Fathoms
by manic-intent
Summary: ..Complete.. Continues during the end of DMC. The Pearl intervenes to save Jack from the Kraken. Jack reacquaints himself with amusing exCommodores, and they make a trip to World's End. Slash warning, JackNorrington.
1. Washed up, an' Nowhere t'go

Author's Note: As FanfictionDotNet does not accept NC17 content, this story has been heavily edited at parts, and rather obviously so (in fact, some chapters will be missing, or seem incredibly short). The full story is archived at sparringtonDotIgotfreeDotCom

Chapter One

Washed up, an' nowhere t'go

_Freedom_, Jack mused, was not only symbolized by his bonnie black ship, after all. It wasn't doing what he felt like at any given time, to Hell with the consequences. It was daring to do what felt, for lack of a given word, right… right to his soul… right for the moment. 'Course, being _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, the word 'right' and 'freedom' were also synonymous with a certain degree of pirating (heavy on the pillaging, light on the raping), but that was beside the point.

He had bared teeth in a smile, when chained to the mast, unable to give voice to the strings of convoluted sentences for which he was known for. Unable to thank her. Fear had managed to cage him longer than the Navy ever had, since he'd realized that, for all intents and purposes, despite looking like a grotesque display of assorted seafood Davy Jones was a scrupulous bookkeeper of debts. By forcing him to do what felt right. Because Jack wasn't sure that, with the choice again to save his own skin, he wouldn't have taken it up.

"Pirate." That had been both gratitude and apology. To tell her he understood. But she had taken it as an accusation – it had broken something within her – the last straw, it seemed. Innocence.

Besides, if he'd run again, he would have royally pissed off his _Pearl_ forever. His mad brain found that quite hard to bear, even if he were to die, and the black ship pulled back down to the depths. Now she hummed beneath his feet even as the Kraken curled mottled, massive tentacles over dark mahogany, careful now that there were no tiny hairless monkeys shooting at it. _Repossessing property_.

Jack bared his teeth again, and drew his sword. "'ello, beastie."

With its answering roar, the blast of foul air threatening to blow his newly returned tricorn off his head, the world seemed to freeze, the moment crystallized into perfection – the sea spray a scatter of diamond over his _Pearl_, the sword heavy in sweat-slicked hands. Curved teeth in perfect overlapping circles. A dark maw that Jack fancied led to Hell itself. There was no fear – bled of fear, he was left only with the clear, fierce sense of freedom.

_Damn it all, mebbe I _am_ a good man. _The thought amused him as he stepped forward, arm outstretched for balance as he took a swing…

The _Black Pearl_ shook abruptly under his feet and shifted, causing him to loose his footing and tumble over blood drenched wood, the Kraken letting out a hiss that could only sound slightly puzzled. Cursing at his lady for robbing him of what would have been a _properly_ heroic way to go, he managed to scramble to his feet as the beast recovered from its surprise, bringing up his sword to meet the onrushing tentacle that reached for him.

Jack yelped as something solid connected with his shoulder, and he overbalanced off the deck. Wide, kohl-rimmed eyes saw the pulley swinging back toward the mast on its downward curve. There was no possible way it could have somehow been compelled by the wind or the beastie's breath in that angle, to knock him off the ship.

Then he smiled as he hit the ice-cold sea, bitterly. No _natural_ way. _T'aint right. A captain's s'posed to go down wi' his ship, an' here ye go savin' me. T'aint right, love._

--

"Well now, Sparrow. What has the world done to you?" Cultured voice. Clipped. Something missing. Bad headache. Dreadfully sober. Earful of sand. Jack's brain assailed him with a barrage of conflicting reports as he sat up and blinked.

His vision cleared to show the white beach of the island where the chest had been buried, damn that thing. Furrows in the otherwise pristine beach, and footprints, told him that he'd been dragged up from the shoreline and, apparently, left under the shade of a palm. His hand went to his belt – pistol gone. Sword too. Jack looked up wearily at his unwanted savior. "_Captain_ Sparrow, I'd thank ye to remember. An' if yer thinkin' of killin' me, now's th'time, Norrington."

Norrington arched an eyebrow at him from where he stood, a wary distance away, Jack's pistol tucked in his belt. Drenched. Nut-brown hair clung to a fine-boned cheeks, pale skin browning to the sun. So he hadn't exactly been washed up on the beach, then. The dip hadn't improved the colour of Norrington's shirt, but the coat had been left to dry on some unsuspecting shrubbery. "If I'd wanted to kill you, Sparrow, I'd have left you floating in the sea."

"An' why didn't ye?" Jack leaned back against the curved trunk, and closed his eyes. His _Pearl_ was gone again. Pulled into the sea. Frowning briefly, he blinked, and then looked at his palms. No spot. Somehow, he didn't feel the exhilaration that he should have.

Green eyes bored into him. "Should I have?"

Jack lurched to his feet, hands pinwheeling a little, and then he shrugged. "I don't know, mate. I've lost me ship again, p'haps fer good, I'm stuck on an island – _again_, and the company's beginnin' t'worsen – I'm sober, me hat's gone, I'm hungry…" he paused for breath, then pointed a finger accusingly at Norrington, "_And_… and… you stole the thump-thump."

Norrington blinked slowly, like a large cat, then wordlessly strolled to the shrubbery-coat dryer. He picked up something, and tossed it to Jack. The hat only seemed slightly battered, and at least the slime had washed off. Jack scowled as he replaced it on his head. "Ye could'a gotten us all killed. 'Lizabeth included."

It was Jack's turn to blink as Norrington's expression seemed to shut down. The other man picked up his coat, roughly pulled it on, then stalked off down the beach.

"Hey…! Hey!" Jack hastily started off after him. "She's alive. They were a fair bit away when th'Kraken came. Mebbe they're still on this island somewhere."

Norrington ignored him.

Jack darted in front of him, slightly out of breath. His shoulder and arm still hurt from the blow that had saved him, and his body ached dully all over. "… Hey."

"What, Sparrow." It wasn't a question. Green eyes met his for a moment, then darted away, looking out to sea.

"Why'd ye save me?"

The ex-Commodore let out an exasperated sound. "Shouldn't it be good enough for you that I did? I saw you floating out in the water, Sparrow. I didn't think."

Jack grinned. "Yer a good man, Norrington."

"No. Not anymore." Norrington couldn't meet his eyes. "You're right. I left all of you to die. I was thinking… I wasn't thinking. Since the hurricane – since I lost Gillette and Groves… and, and everybody else. Resigning, coming to Tortuga out of some madcap idea to look for you and make it all right again. By taking you back to Port Royal. Then I thought of taking the heart to Beckett and somehow getting my rank back. My old life." He took a deep breath. "But a good man wouldn't have done that. No more than he would have sailed through a hurricane when he could have given up chase and saved his men."

The smile faded a little, but refused to leave at the sight of broad shoulders shuddering under suppressed emotion, proud head bowed, hands fisted, drying tresses escaping from an increasingly tattered black ribbon, freed from all the prim trappings of a British Naval Officer. The wet shirt helped. _Beautiful_, Jack thought. _If I wasn't so caught up wi' all that souls thing 'aving this man as part of me crew could have been _very_ interesting. _He re-evaluated his conclusion about the company having worsened.

Norrington seemed to pull himself together abruptly, green eyes that only just been clouded with grief and regret clearing back to ice. "And I suppose you just find this all very funny."

"Very dramatic, mebbe," Jack said, waggling a finger. "Very funny, no." He glanced out briefly at the calm stretch of sea. "Ye loved yer _Dauntless_, too, didn't ya."

"Yes." Norrington followed his eyes, and then sighed, some of the ice creeping out. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Sparrow. About the _Pearl_, that is. I may have loved the _Dauntless_ but you… I guess you went down with your ship. It was selfless. Mr. Turner and Eliza… Miss Swan… they were right about you, after all."

Jack ignored that, deciding not to explain how he had been tricked, focusing instead on the mention of his beloved ship. "Both of us did, but don't look like we were meant to. 'Sides, I wanted to, but she didn't, savvy?"

"Who?"

"The _Pearl_, mate."

Norrington frowned. "Sparrow. For an imaginary friend, you have very odd…"

"Not imaginary, man!" Jack shook his hands, agitated, hoping the _Pearl_, down in the depths, didn't hear that. "She's every bit as real as you an' me. Sometimes a wee bit too real, if I do somethin' she don't fancy. Ye were on board fer so long, an' ye didn't notice anythin' different 'bout her?"

"All right." Jack pouted. Obviously, Norrington had decided to humor him for the sake of some peace. The damned man was _smirking_ as he pushed past him and continued walking, towards the jungle.

The pirate captain followed behind, muttering all the while to himself about ex-Commodores who wouldn't leave well alone an' wouldn't know the truth even if it hit them in the face. The silence of the other man only got unnerving when they reached the trees. Continued shade, broken only briefly by shafts of sunlight, made the day somewhat more bearable. Birds screeched in the distance, and the sea air was tampered by the rich scent of the undergrowth.

Finally, Jack couldn't stand it anymore, and he burst out, "Where're we going?"

"It's too hot to be walking around the beach looking for the others," Norrington said reasonably, as if talking to a purposefully obtuse child. "We should search under the cover of shade. Besides, if they had indeed landed on this place, they are likely to have gone for shelter as well."

"It's a big island," Jack pointed out.

"If you'd rather walk along the beach and cook in the sun, you're welcome to," Norrington replied a little sharply. "Maybe it'd improve your grasp of reality."

"I didn't say it was a _bad_ idea," Jack injected a bit of hurt into his voice.

It worked. Norrington sighed. "Sorry. That was undeserved."

"So, can I have me pistol back?"

The ex-Commodore paused in his long stride, half-turned to glance at him, then, to Jack's surprise, began to chuckle. It was a throaty, rich sound, and Jack found himself grinning again. _Like chocolate an' honey_, his mind supplied him with a suitably odd (and seductive) analogy. "Jack Sparrow, you are incorrigible."

"I try me best." Jack waggled his eyebrows. "Now, I'm starvin' here. Does yer plan t'find me crew without us dyin' of exposure include getting us a meal?"

"I'm sure you're better equipped than I am regarding finding food out in the wilds far from civilization."

A further walk revealed some trees with coconuts that seemed ripe enough, and that assuaged Jack's mood for the time being, though Norrington's sword seemed to have suffered from the ill use. Besides, watching the man eat was highly amusing. Norrington may have drunk with the practiced ease of a sailor, but he still ate with the accustomed, almost dainty concern of a society man. He had snorted when he noticed Jack watching him, but continued anyway.

Where could the heart be? Jack was an accomplished pickpocket, but Norrington always kept a safe distance between them, perhaps wary of this fact. Probably somewhere in an inner pocket of that bedraggled coat. The fabric would be stiff enough to hide the contractions. Perhaps at night he could take a closer look. The heart may not be able to solve Norrington's problems, but it could definitely solve Jack's current ones. No longer being on his _Pearl_? Check. Marooned on yet another island? Check. Grouchy, cold but very attractive ex-Commodore? Maybe not. But then, it would be far more fun to solve that problem himself. After the previous priorities.

"You're being very quiet," Norrington drawled, after they crossed yet another stretch of vegetation, occasionally startling small animals and birds in their path.

"Just thinkin'." Jack offered. "What're ye going t'say when ye meet th'others? Ye _did _take the thump-thump. Took a few years off me' life, ye did."

"The _heart_," Norrington corrected. A long pause, but he didn't reach into his coat as Jack had hoped, to give some indication of where he had left it. "I'd deny that I took it."

"Then I'd insist we search ye. Thoroughly." Jack leered. Norrington saw, and rolled his eyes.

"And you owe me your life."

"So?"

"So you can keep your silence." Norrington replied dryly. "Of course, I know that's too much to expect."

"And that's why we're very obviously walkin' in th'opposite direction o' where they could'a landed?" Jack retorted.

Another slow blink, then a faint smirk. "You noticed."

"I'm not stupid, mate. An' I can see th'shape o' the shore as good on land as on th'sea."

"And you didn't object?"

Jack remembered Elizabeth's soft lips and her desperation, how she so obviously wanted to cry but held it back, so she wouldn't back down. How if he showed up now she would likely blurt it out, poor girl that she was, and young Will may never forgive that – nor his crew – and it could be bloody. And by now, Davy Jones had probably found the chest empty, the _Black Pearl_ sunk without her captain. Perhaps he was thought dead – hence the lack of the spot on his palm – but he would endanger all of them again if he didn't sort out the business of not having a ship and having an angry mythical character after him before having a reunion.

Being Jack Sparrow, however, he merely leered again. "Anybody tell ye that ye look great in a wet shirt?"

Norrington stared at him for a long moment, then his cheeks flushed, his eyes sparkled with sudden ire, and he growled, turning on his heel and stalking away, inland this time, ending the charade. Jack shivered at the sound, and had to stop himself from purring in response, grinning wickedly, his walk jauntier as he followed.

--

Night found them in the remains of what seemed to have been a farmhouse. The island had once been inhabited – the church being a fairly obvious statement to that fact. Norrington was again in a poor mood, and had ignored all of Jack's attempts at conversation, so Jack had to content himself to whistling, and trying to remember phrases from the pirate song that Elizabeth had taught him.

"_Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for me… we pillage, we plunder_… uhh…" Jack fell into mutterings, then tried the line again. And again. And again.

"We rifle and loot. Drink up, me hearties, yo-ho." Norrington enunciated over his shoulder, coldly. "Now shut up."

"I'd never thought a respectable man like yerself would'a known that," Jack said delightedly, clapping a callused hand on Norrington's shoulder. Which was quickly shrugged off.

"I spent some time on Tortuga, remember?" Norrington replied in the same glacial voice. "Even incapacitated, I am afraid most of those so-called pirate songs have been permanently ingrained into my memory."

"Oh good! Ye can teach old Jack."

"No." Norrington finished circling the ruin in inspection, and pushed open the door. It fell off rusted hinges, the wood all but crumbling to pieces. Inside, the cottage had been stripped of most of its furniture, but at least retained most of its roof, and it seemed barely habitable. A nest of birds in the rafters chirped anxiously for a moment, then seemed to calm when neither of them seemed inclined to threaten them.

"Why not?" Jack whined.

Satisfied with the condition of the house, Norrington finally looked back at him. "I can think of better things to do than teaching you silly tunes, Sparrow."

"Really." The taller man seemed taken aback when Jack abruptly smiled, dark eyes smoldering as he sidled closer to invade Norrington's personal space, his voice now a purr. "And what would those better things be?"

Norrington leaned closer, almost involuntarily, until Jack could feel his hot breath ghosting across his cheek. He parted his lips invitingly, just as he slid his hands under Norrington's coat – or tried to, as his wrists were abruptly caught in an iron grip. The ex-Commodore smirked. "Very predictable, Sparrow. Try harder." He shoved Jack against one of the mossy stone walls, and then delicately wiped his palms off on his coat. To make a point. Insufferable! It was Jack's turn to growl, but this only worsened the smirk. "When you come up with better plans to relieve me of the heart, do let me know. In the meantime, I'd be trying to find some dinner."

Jack stared daggers at the broad, retreating back until it disappeared, then sat down cross-legged, counting off his problems from be-ringed fingers. " 'e's stronger than me, 'e has me gun, 'e 'ates me, an' I'm still sober." He wondered if the _Pearl_ would have saved him if she had known he would suffer so, afterwards. She probably still would have. And was probably laughing now, down in the depths. At him. The thought immediately seemed correct, and it made him feel slightly better. _Still a part o'me, me bonny lass. Wait fer me again. I'd get ye back, an' we'd try an' catch that horizon again, the two o' us._

His stomach growled, and he got the definite sense of silent laughter again.

"We'd see who's laughin' when I get ye back, missy!" he hissed, good nature taking the snarl from his words.

"Imaginary friends." His sharp ears picked up the words muttered somewhere outside. "Mad pirate." The voice grew fainter as Norrington moved away for some reason, though Jack fancied he heard a 'why me?'.

Beads clacked together as he stood up and swaggered out of the cottage, looking around the overgrown remnants of what had been an organized cultivation effort. He spotted Norrington rather inefficiently attempting to pluck what looked like wild fowl (that had likely turned feral after this island's community had fled, or died out, or whatever). Chuckling, he sauntered over and took over, the other man ceding his catch with relief. "Didn't yer mother teach ye anythin' useful?"

"Titled ladies do not teach their offspring how to dress fowl, I'm afraid," Norrington said mildly, backing away to sit on the weathered remains of a squat well.

"Don't suppose ye know how to clean it, either."

"No."

"So, do I at least get a knife?"

A long pause. "No."

"Aww…"

"Teach me."

"T'aint work fer th' offspring o' titled ladies, m'fraid."

"Fine. Then we don't clean the chicken."

"Tha's sick, tha' is. C'mon. I'd give ye back th' knife. Word o' honor."

"Forgive me if I am disinclined to take it."

Jack grumbled to himself under his breath. Feathers plucked, he sighed and took the compass from his belt. That, at least, Norrington hadn't taken when he was unconscious – probably because the man still felt it didn't work. "'ere. Ye can take this as 'ostage."

"I'm not sure you can hold an inanimate object hostage," Norrington said dryly. "And knives can be 'returned' by throwing them, I believe."

"I'd swear on me _Pearl_, okay? No funny business. She gets real upset if I break those promises."

Norrington looked like he would object, but at the look in Jack's eye, sighed, and took the dagger from his boot, handing it over hilt first, taking the compass in return. He seemed to be playing with it as Jack went to work, turning it this way and that. "Doesn't point north."

"Magic compass, savvy?" Jack was very tired of that point.

"Magic compasses and magic ships," Norrington mused, as if to himself. "The things you'd trade your soul for."

"Didn't trade me soul for th'compass."

"What, then?"

"Favors. Fer a lady."

Norrington arched his eyebrows, but, gentleman that he still was under that battered exterior, refrained from further comment on that. "The ship, then."

"Aye. And wasn't she worth it."

"The fastest ship in the Caribbean. And only for thirteen years. Isn't that selling your soul a little short?"

"Was drunk, mate, an' I thought 'e was some sort'a dream. 'Allucinathingy."  
"Hallucination."

"Whatever. An' thirteen is me favorite number."

"And then you crew it with a group of thoroughly untrustworthy men."

Jack chuckled. "Think ye can find a crew o' good men to crew a pirate ship?"

A pause. "Gibbs and… the others… didn't seem too bad."

"Aye, an' ye should'a seen the rest tha' didn't get away from th' cannibals."

Norrington blinked, then shuddered. "You lead an interesting life, at least."

"T'aint 'alf of it."

--

Dinner was as restrained as lunch. Somehow they had managed to spit and roast the chicken, and although it wasn't the best that Jack had eaten, it was tender and fragrant. Norrington ate in silence. Jack had already returned the cleaned dagger, but the other man hadn't surrendered the compass.

"It's true that this points to what you want most, then?" Norrington said mildly, at last. "I do believe that's what you said to Miss Swann."

"Aye."

"That's why it didn't work for you. It pointed to the _Pearl_."

Jack nodded.

"But if you managed to get the chest, and the key, then you should have been able to save the Pearl. Just as how Miss Swann managed to find the chest that way."

"She's young, mate. An' ye need a conscious, powerful want t'work th'compass. Or it'd keep pointin' to all th'things yer heart wants."

"And since you already had your _Pearl_…"

"Aye. The drivin' want was gone."

"I see." Norrington turned the compass around again, then snapped it shut and tossed it back to Jack, his expression unreadable.

"Seein' as you've saved me life, don't I get t'know yer first name?" Jack asked nonchalantly, so as to make it seem that he wasn't all that interested.

Norrington seemed to consider this for a moment, then his broad shoulders slouched a little, as if he decided it wasn't that big a thing to give up. "Just so as to prevent you from whining at me about it all night, it's James."

"Jamie. Fine name, that. I knew a Jamie."

"_James_." Norrington stressed the word carefully. "And I am not interested in knowing how I compare to your piratical acquaintances."

Jack grinned, sitting up and stretching a little before the fire they had built. "An' fine words, that. One'd think ye a Commodore again, 'ow ye'd been goin' on, even tho' just some days ago ye were scrubbin' th'deck of me _Pearl_."

Unfortunately, that failed to get the hoped-for spark of anger that he had seen earlier at the tree line. Norrington merely smiled, mockingly. "Perhaps a Commodore again soon. Who knows."

"Not a good man, then?"

Norrington shrugged, and tossed the bones of his share out into the darkness, swiping his fingers on the grass. "I know Lord Beckett. He is in love with power, though he tries to give the impression that it is money. What would you call a man who employs the Caribbean's best assassin as his secretary?"

"An' people say I'm mad," Jack thought about this for a moment. Somehow, 'assassin' failed to seem as frightening as 'undead pirate', or 'walking assorted seafood persons'. "So yer going back t'free th' folks o' Port Royal from his oppressioning?"

"Yes." Norrington smiled wryly. "Or rather, I am going to see what he has done to Port Royal. After all, I appear to have forgotten who I should serve."


	2. Dead men tell no tales

Chapter 2

Dead men tell no tales… (awwrk)

Jack watched out of the corner of his eye as Norrington removed his coat, carefully folded it into a stiff ball, and put it down against one of the ramshackle walls. Pistols and sword went neatly next to it, and then the ex-Commodore lay down, pillowing his head on the coat, back to the wall. "Don't even think about it."

"'Bout what?" Jack asked innocently. He sat cross-legged, apparently inspecting his compass.

Norrington snorted derisively, then was silent. Jack stole a look. The man had closed his eyes – and as he waited, the thin line in his mouth softened as his breathing deepened and evened. The pirate captain couldn't help smiling despite himself. Mussed brown hair and the way the long, lean body seemed to automatically curl into a somewhat fetal position made for an adorable picture undeserving of the title 'pirate hunter'. He noted, however, that it wasn't a true sleep, but the half-aware slumber learned from years of gambling one's life in the sea against outlaws.

Still, the man would probably be terribly disappointed if he didn't try anything. Jack tugged at his beard thoughtfully for a moment, and wondered what his _Pearl_ would think. And there it was – that definite sense of feminine, if supernatural, amusement. "An' ye'd find it _very_ funny if 'e wakes up an' shoots me dead," he muttered sarcastically.

Jack slowly eased up onto his haunches, then with exaggerated, comical stealth inched his way towards the pistols. Just as one nut-brown hand was about to come into reaching distance of one, the note in Norrington's breathing changed, and Jack froze, waiting until it went back again, then, swift as a snake, his hand darted towards his pistol, cocking it in one fluid movement.

Norrington opened an eye, looked at him with distinct disinterest, and yawned. "Go to sleep, Sparrow."

"Sorry, Jamie. The thump-thump, if ye please." Sparrow grinned as Norrington scowled at the bastardization of his name. To his annoyance, however, Norrington merely closed his eyes again. "Hey! I've got 'e gun here!" To emphasize his point, he took the other pistol as well.

"Kill me then," Norrington said mildly, not bothering to wake up. "You can bury me at sea or whatever suits your mad fancy."

Jack bit out a curse, and cocked Norrington's pistol, aiming it at the wall above the man. Just so he didn't think old Jack was simply fooling around… and there was an audible click. The pistol wasn't loaded. Jack blinked, and checked his own – not loaded, either. "What…"

Green eyes met his own as he glared at the other man. The ex-Commodore seemed decidedly amused – that absolutely annoying smirk was back.

"When?"

"Just before I came back with dinner."

Jack made a sound of irritation, then his hand darted for the sword, only to find that not only did Norrington have longer hands, he was marginally faster, as well. The blade pointed unerringly at his throat. "Don't make me tie you up, Jack."

"We-ell. Ye have no rope, even if that's very kinky of ye, Jamie," Jack smiled, showing all his gold teeth. "Didn't think it o' a Navy man. Or is tha' what all of ye do in yer free time, wi' no free drinkin' o' rum allowed?"

"Heard that before," Norrington said dryly. Somehow he managed to re-sheathe the sword while still lying down, and this time put it behind his back. "And it's _Norrington_ to you."

"Is tha' th'way to speak to yer Captain?" Jack asked, pressing a hand full of pistol to his chest in mock annoyance.

Norrington opened his mouth, probably to object that Jack was no longer his Captain, since there was no longer a ship, and then he abruptly shut it. To spare his feelings over the loss of the _Pearl_? Very odd. Very gentlemanly. But undeserved, all the same. His voice, however, was caustic, when he decided finally to reply. "No, _Captain_. Now can you let me sleep?"

"M' cold."

"Then light the fire outside and sleep there."

"M' get eaten by horrible beasties th' likes o' which no man 'as ever seen."

Norrington rolled his eyes. "Maybe I'd finally get some peace, then. And you almost did. Out in the sea."

"Funny 'ow th'more that happens, th'more I don't care t' repeat th'experience."

"_I'm_ not cold."

"That's 'cos ye 'ave all that body heat, Jamie…" Jack put the pistols down where Norrington had left them, and then swiftly pressed up against the other man, tangling their legs and locking his arm over the smooth back, his cheek pressed high against the bit of skin that showed from the half-opened shirt. Definitely deliciously warm. The musky, extremely masculine scent of the other man seemed to hold the faint hint of gunpowder.

There was a strangled pause as Norrington froze in shock, then with a growl he tried to shove Jack away, twisting up and gasping, "Jack!" A blink, then a deeper growl, "Sparrow… your utter lack of propriety is absolutely… for God's sake, man, did you take… clinging lesson from an octopus…"

Jack grinned wickedly up at him. "I think I could like 'ow ye say me name, like that."

Norrington flushed as he realized Jack hadn't missed his slip, then let out a sound that was definitely a stifled moan as the pirate rubbed against his body like a cat, even purring to complete the impression. His struggles seemed to become somewhat more half-hearted, especially when Jack slipped a hand up his shirt, stroking his back curiously, occasionally exploring scar tissue with callused fingers. "Sparrow."

"I preferred it when ye said Jack, Jamie-luv."

"It's _Norrington_," he said almost absently, trying to disentangle his legs. Jack pressed himself more firmly against him until he gave up, the rippling muscle that the pirate had just admired tensing, and then relaxing a little as Norrington took a deep, calming breath, then he sighed. "I suppose you're going to tell me you learned this in Singapore."

"Mebbe," Jack grinned, nuzzling the warm skin at face-level, and chuckling as Norrington hissed softly. "And I take it back. Ye don't smell funny."

"The dip to save your life probably helped," Norrington said pointedly, as if attempting to remind Jack that he hadn't been very forthcoming in terms of gratitude, and leaving his rescuer in peace.

Jack chuckled, then licked, and laughed as muscles spasmed around him, the taller man taking in a sharp intake of breath. "Don't taste bad either."

"You. Are. Trying. My. Patience. Sparrow." Norrington ground out, and then yelped as Jack attempted to slip his free hand into his breeches, catching it roughly. "Stop!"

Unfortunately, this meant that Norrington's remaining hand was trapped between their bodies, freeing the hand that was petting his back to slide down and cup his firm rump. Glancing up, Jack saw green eyes widen with surprise, and then darken with annoyance… and aye, perhaps something else. He danced fingers down the rough fabric over a thigh, and then stroked him, the warm flesh seeming to burn under his palm. Up again, squeezing a hip – the bone a little stark (didn't eat too well in Tortuga, did he now), then under the shirt again, splaying against the warmth of the flat belly. Norrington didn't resist, or even make a further sound of protest.

Looking up to check, Jack noted that the ex-Commodore's eyes were half-lidded, and watching the movement of his hand under the thin fabric of the discolored shirt. Afraid to speak, in case the spell broke, Jack glanced away, pressing a kiss on warm skin, then craning his neck to taste more, greedily laving the flesh available, purring as he did, eventually having to disentangle his legs to nuzzle the hollow of Norrington's neck. The grip on his hand no longer seemed to be that of restraint, but support, as he licked up the browned neck and under the chin, his nose tickled by the scruffy growth of the beard, then up to one ear, nuzzling it first, then running his tongue delicately over the shell.

He risked a glance back. Half-lidded eyes were now unfocused, and breath, erratic. Good. Jack tugged at the lobe with his teeth, gently, and then sucked – that got a reaction – green eyes blinked open, and Norrington did not have time to bite down his moan. Jack was fairly surprised at his pliancy himself, half-expecting the other man to roll them both over at any moment and tell him to 'try again' in that dry, so very British voice. It was never his way to question good fortune, however. Maybe trekking over half the island and catching dinner had indeed made Norrington tired enough to be more agreeable. Of course, his own (and self-admitted) immense ego told him to take all the credit in his skills of seduction, as it were…

Nimble fingers pulled open the buttons of Norrington's shirt, gently, then continued to explore revealed skin. Jack gave the reddening ear a final lick, and then scooted up until his face was on level with the taller man. Still dazed. So very adorable. So close, he only had to lean forward a little…

Lips not as soft as Elizabeth's, of course, but then he was kissing no lass. In his long career of buccaneering Jack had played both sides, and hadn't committed himself to either. More fun that way, he found – but this kiss already threatened to steal his heart. Hesitant, as though wary of rejection, but definitely responding. Jack flicked his tongue at the lower lip, and they parted, allowing him to leisurely explore the mouth of an ex-British Naval Officer. Faintest hint of rum, and the aftertaste of the night's dinner, and something almost smoky, and very, very seductive. A muffled whimper, and then his wrist was released, slender, long fingers reaching up to stroke his cheek, then weave through his hair. Jack let out a purr of appreciation as he rubbed his tongue against Norrington's.

When they pulled away, Norrington's eyes burned with a heat that was almost palpable, making the pirate shiver in response, licking his lips as he looked the other man over. The open shirt was an even better improvement from when it was wet, but Jack decided he would have to daze Norrington a little more before he could do something about that. A few more hungry kisses, and green eyes seemed to glaze over again. Satisfied, Jack slid back down the long body, encouraging him to shift so that he now lay on his back. Again that odd compliance.

cut

"If I find the heart gone in the morning, I swear I'd hang you right here on this island myself." A look upwards showed Jack that Norrington, while perhaps being as strong a man as one could be, was one still recovering from heartbreak. And he would not stand to be used. Jack burrowed his head in warm flesh and listened to the steady beat. If he listened hard enough, he could hear another beat, somewhere within the coat. At the moment, that seemed a lot less interesting.

"'Mmk." Jack yawned. "'ave an accord. Though ye surprised me there, mate. Yer a fair bit stronger than I am." _Could have pushed me away_. The words hung in the air, unspoken.

Norrington sighed. "There are different kinds of strength."

"That so." A sleepy reply.

"I am still going back to Port Royal."

"'Kay, Jamie-love."

"And after that we may not meet again, so…"

Jack forced his brain to wake up from 'sleepy-sated-purr' mode, and watched as Norrington pulled away and reached for his compass in his effects. Pressed it up against Jack's heart, and flicked it open. The needle began to wheel, as it did whenever Jack stood on the deck of his _Pearl_ and spoke to her in love. He pulled the compass away, and the needle swung still. Pointing straight at him. Wordlessly, Norrington closed the compass, placing it back on the discarded trousers, and then lay back down against Jack, pulling him close.

_By remembering I serve others, and not just myself._

Stunned, Jack compliantly allowed himself to be cuddled.

--

Morning announced itself via changing what was comfortable warmth into a heat akin to being pressed up against an oven. Jack woke with a start and looked up into thoughtful green eyes. Norrington nodded at him, then rolled to his feet, dressing efficiently, though leaving his shirt open, then picking up coat, pistols and sword.

"Where're ye going?" Jack yawned and stretched, then flinched. Definitely sore. Problems with well-endowed partners. Norrington looked down at him in concern, and then mutely fetched his things from where they had been strewn around the ruin in the course of last night's passion. The ramshackle cottage smelled heavily of sex – Jack watched as Norrington moved quickly out into the open and breathed deeply. Putting on his own things and grimacing at the stickiness – a dip in the sea was in order – Jack followed, limping.

"Are you all right?" Was that a possessive glint in those changeable green eyes?

"I'd be better after a bit of a swim," Jack replied, watching Norrington's expression change to that of concern, then he set off on a slow walk back down to the beach.

No mention of sin, of buggery or anything, throughout the journey there. Perhaps some of what Jack had heard about Navy lads was true, indeed. Jack tried to wrap his mind around the enormity that his compass had shown him, and felt mental resistance. Too much had happened over the past couple of days. He'd need to take a breather some time later and sort it out.

The swim did make him feel better, though Norrington refused to join him – he only washed himself off clinically and dressed again, sitting on the beach to watch Jack roll about in the surf with amusement. Occasionally, in the corner of his eye, Jack could see the amusement turn briefly into tenderness. Good God. As though he hadn't enough problems as it were. "An' ye can stop laughin' at me now, Missy!"

"What?" A glance back at the shore showed a puzzled ex-Commodore.

"Me ship. She's laughin' at me," Jack replied mildly, reasonably, as if it were perfectly normal. If anything, he felt it just worsened the hilarity that his _Pearl_ saw in the situation.

"…okay." Norrington rubbed at his temples wearily and murmured something that Jack couldn't quite make out.

"She liked… likes ye, y'know." Jack sat down waist-deep in the water and let the waves rush and pull against him. "Tried her best t'charm ye into th'crew. T'was so embarrassing I 'ad t'keep makin' eyes at 'Lizabeth t'distract her. All that talk 'bout marriage." A wicked grin. "Right scared me _Pearl_, it did. She sulked fer days."

"Jack Sparrow, you're likely madder than I even imagined possible," Norrington said wryly, but he couldn't quite suppress his smile. _A jealous sort, it seems._ "I didn't exactly notice any sort of… charming."

"'Cos yer eyes were right on that gel, 'Lizabeth. _Pearl_ was _very_ annoyed. Had to talk 'er out of flicking th'gel overboard, at some point. She doesn't like 'aving women aboard. Don't like anybody giving her any less attention than she thinks she deserves."

"Your first mate was a woman," Norrington reminded him mildly.

"Ah. Anamaria." Jack sighed. "T'aint her now. She left. Family business, or summat. Gave her t'share of her treasure from th'last take, an' some of me share, as well. Wish her well – ain't a first mate as bonnie as that. She got along with _Pearl_, too." He walked out from the surf, and grinned as Norrington averted his eyes quickly until he dressed. Funny sort, the Navy.

"Where to now, Jamie?"

Norrington no longer seemed to object even to the mangled version of his name. "We might as well look around."

--

The others had definitely been back to the ruined church, and had probably spent the night there. Jack noticed Norrington looking rather guiltily at the broken haft where the waterwheel had been, but he was more interested in the pile of stones at one side of the graveyard. That wasn't there the last time. Approaching it in his own imitable way, he let out a disbelieving laugh at the words scratched into the two largest stones, adjusting his hat.

The stones were obviously moved from parts of the Church wall and scraped clean with swords. On them was written:

"Captain Jack Sparrow, Lost at Sea. The best pirate there ever was." The precision of the words, yet their slight unevenness suggesting of a lack of calligraphy lessons spoke of William Turner. Someone had even managed to get his birth date nearly right. Jack picked up some of the other smaller stones, which had more personal messages ascribed to him from the crew. Right touching, it all was. He looked through some of the more memorable ones.

"Buy ye a drink in Hell. –Gibbs"

"Hat back here sometime. –Marty" (written by Gibbs).

"Dead men tell no tales awwrk –Cotton" (Turner's hand, this time)

"Thank you, Jack, for everything. I can't hate you for who you are. I hope you're with your ship forever at last. –Turner"

And finally, on a small piece of shale:

"Sorry. So sorry. -E.S."

The pain in those words was evident in the harsh scratches. Jack only had enough time to carefully hide the piece of shale behind some other rocks before he felt Norrington approach him and read the message on the large stones. And chuckle softly.

"Shouldn't you be removing your hat?"

"I 'appen to be very much alive, thanks to ye," Jack patted the stones. "But I 'preciate th'gesture from them, all th'same. But!" and here he whirled around, shaking his finger under Norrington's nose, "they obviously forgot one very important thing, mate."

"If I ask 'what', you'd reply with 'I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!' by which time I do believe your ego will implode," Norrington said dryly, making as if to turn away. Jack quickly stepped forward and embraced him, nibbling at his neck, then leaned up to murmur into his ear.

"Why not we do a little bit of celebratin' over me bein' still on this bonnie earth, eh, Jamie-luv?"

"Next to your tombstone? Certainly not!" Norrington gasped, pushing Jack away and scowling. "That is… so… _wrong_, I cannot even begin to describe it."

"It's just a lot of stone, mate."

"And in a _graveyard_, over… over buried people! This is sanctified ground, Jack." Norrington snapped.

"Fine, fine," Jack said placatingly, waving his hands about. "'M just joking."

"I _hope_ so." Norrington sniffed, then stalked off into the jungle, not bothering to wait to see if Jack was following. The pirate captain could barely keep from laughing. So prim and proper at times, and yet so wild at others.

He was becoming addicted, and his _Pearl_ knew it too.

After all, she was the one who thought it was _so_ very funny.


	3. Kingdom for a ship

Chapter 3

Kingdom for a ship

The tracks to and from the church looked as though his crew had headed here – to set up that unnecessary but very touching tribute to him – and then purposefully back to where they'd started. Norrington had already started to follow, without looking back at Jack for his opinion. That definitely had to change sometime. "Decided t'go talk to them after all, Jamie?"

"We do have to get off this island sooner or later, Jack," Norrington replied reasonably. "It seemed a great idea yesterday to just avoid conflict, but I don't think we can leave this place by ourselves."

"Then we don't leave," Jack replied, with a mischievous wink. "Fresh air. Has food, an' we just passed that spring. Better than a stuffy office an' all those 'eavy, fancy togs."

"You're mad," A statement, and full of wry conviction. "Besides, I think I'd go crazy, having to live here with only you for company for the rest of my days."

"Good. Then we'd both be crazy. At th'same time."

Norrington took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders. "If this is about the compass, or last night…"

"Sure. What's a man s'posed t'do, forget it?"

"It'd be better if you did. If I did," the reply was without inflexion, like a glass sea, and just as dangerous. "Call it a moment of contagious madness. _And_ I blame you for everything." Norrington had intended for the last line to sound matter-of-fact, but resentment made it petulant instead. _Adorable_.

"I accept. Do I get punished?" Jack asked, leered when Norrington turned to frown at him, and then laughed when the other man took deep breaths. Calming breaths.

"I think I'd go crazy having to stay another day with only your company, Sparrow," Norrington snapped, and stalked down the trail more quickly. His crew had made no attempt to hide their tracks. Some inoffensive palm trees had in fact been mutilated. Jack concluded that some rum barrels from the explosion on the Pearl had probably miraculously survived, damn it all, and he hadn't been there to celebrate it. On the other hand, he did just spend the night having some absolutely incredible sex. Rum, or sex. Too confusing. Brain still too addled.

The ex-Commodore was furious. Jack occasionally overheard soft growls, and muttered words. He wouldn't at all be surprised to see a storm cloud start to gather and zap him with lightning. Finally getting bored with looking at the devastation his crew had wrecked on the trees in some sort of odd drunken rite, he asked as placatingly as he could, "M' sorry, Jamie. Didn't mean t'make ye upset."

"No, you didn't. And that makes it worse." Norrington didn't even spare him a backward glance. "You can toy, joke, with my… my feelings, with that entire… compass… thing, and not even realize how much it hurts me." Slender fingers curled into fists for a brief moment. "Jack. If you want to do me a favor, just forget about last night. Go back to needling me about the heart." _At least I can deal with that_. Unspoken, unnecessary.

"M' sorry. Really." Jack darted up next to Norrington, looking up at him anxiously. Green eyes cloudy with anger, frustration, something darker, more primal, focused on him wildly for a moment, then smoothed back to ice.

"There's nothing to forgive in an act without malice," Norrington said stiffly, and Jack wondered if this was what he had said to Elizabeth, if she ever apologized over publicly breaking his heart, twice.

"Plenty to forgive, in me opinion. An' it'd be important t'me, it really will," Jack touched his sleeve. Norrington jerked away, as if burned, but his expression softened.

"All right. You're forgiven." A pause. "For now." The warning was as clear as the sky above them. Jack grinned, his good temper restored, and he fluttered his fingers at Norrington.

"An' I didn't steal it. Though it could'a been crushed, poor thing."

Norrington seemed to recall some of what he had been doing last night, over and near the balled coat, and flushed slightly. "It wasn't."

So he'd checked, probably when Jack had fallen asleep. Jack mentally cursed the wasted opportunity, even as with every step his body reminded him exactly why he had fallen into that exhausted slumber. Getting back his _Pearl_ should have been paramount in his considerations, but it didn't feel as though she was angry with him over having a bit of fun first. But then, she liked James, even though he wasn't the one who had slaved for years over her, trying to get her back. Jack wondered if he should feel jealous. And now Jamie was in love with him, or at least, Jack was what he wanted most. A love triangle. Involving a magic ship. No wonder the _Pearl_ seemed to think it was amusing. However, James (his James) seemed bent on going back to Port Royal and Commodoring all over again, or whatever he meant by checking on the place and no doubt giving Beckett the damn heart, and he wasn't very forthcoming on any further details. Stupid ex-Commodores.

"I'm sure I beg your pardon," the dry tone informed him that he'd spoken the last words out loud. A smirk. No offense taken, then.

"M' just wondering what ye plan on doin' after handing th'heart to the East India Company, Jamie."

"I'm sure it'd all fall into place," Norrington said mildly, and then smirked again at the obvious frustration that showed on Jack's face.

"Why don't ye want t'tell me? T'aint I followin' ye to Port Royal?"

The smirk vanished. "No, Jack. You're not."

"I am too. Pirate, ye know. Got to relieve ye of th'thump-thump, attempt to, or make at least a stunnin' effort for all t'remember, or…"

"Jack. No."

"Why?" A whine. "But I want to." Now a pout. The Great Captain Jack Sparrow was not being childish, of course. Whining and pouting were all right on a grown man, when that man was his own estimable self.

Norrington met his eyes. Wounded pride, fear, weariness, self-disgust all painted a poignant picture. "No. I know what they do to pirates. You know what they do. I've seen your wrist."

"An' I've met Beckett b'fore, too. T'aint nothin' ye can tell me 'bout him tha' I don't know," Jack replied, evenly. "And Jamie-luv, I don't think 'e'd make it so easy for ye. Heart, for yer place back with yer poncy wig and big blue hat? T'would be like bettin' wi' th'devil. There'd be some sort'a small print ye'd miss, and then…"

"And you're the expert in betting with the devil, I suppose. With all evidence to the contrary," Norrington replied dryly. "I didn't manage to get to Commodore at thirty without _some _sort of common sense. Be safe, Jack. Leave the Caribbean. If you go to Port Royal with me, you'd run into the East India Company again, and… and I doubt I can help you, not anymore."

"They won't catch old Jack," the pirate smiled, starting forward in front of them both, in an exaggerated, confident strut.

"Jack. Don't make me beg you for this."

Jack paused. Turned back and looked, locked wills with what must have been the proudest pirate hunter who ever lived, even when drunk and misplaced in Tortuga, ill-treated by luck. He was the first to look away, flapping his hands impatiently in Norrington's direction. "S'allright then. I like playin' the role of white bloody knight to the rescue of stupid soon-to-be-re-Commodored Commodores."

A deep chuckle. Playful, now that his bloody Jamie had gotten what he wanted. Stubborn navy types! "I doubt it'd come to that."

--

The tracks led past several more ramshackle dwellings, until it reached what was probably once the town of the island. Now only the shells and outlines of a few buildings remained, the cobbled track to the harbor overgrown. Monkeys shrieked at them from the remaining roof of what looked to be the townhouse, the mothers hastily scooping up tiny babies and scurrying away behind the males. Wrinkled matriarchs perched on chimneys and watched them with the somnolent calm of magistrates.

The crew had spent the night here, it seemed. The empty cask of one rum bottle had been dragged here, and, to Jack's disgust, was now empty. Norrington seemed relieved.

The town was empty again, however. "P'haps they went down to t'sea."

"That would seem the most obvious course," Norrington replied mildly. "After all, it's possible that Davy Jones would have returned to this island to tidy up that chest of letters that we dug up, and perhaps searched it for survivors."

"'Course, and th'heart, too," Jack grumbled. "Which _somebody_ took."

"Quite so," Norrington replied blandly, wandering down the track. And he was whistling. Whistling! Jack vowed to himself that someday, somehow, he would have appropriate revenge. Dents to the pride of Captain Jack Sparrow were not so easily forgiven.

The wood planking of the harbor was rotting and creaking with the waves. The deep lagoon made it an excellent natural port, and again Jack wondered vaguely what had happened to the inhabitants. Not a very reassuring thing to consider, even on such a nice day.

There was no sign of his crew. In the distance, however, near the end of the port with its ruins of warehouses and shipping offices, there were _ships_. Jack hissed, but Norrington had already started quickly towards them, in excitement.

"Hey!" he hailed quickly, running forward to grab the other man's arm. "Don't know what those are, but they should'a be here."

His Jamie gave him an impatient look, and then relaxed. "True. We must proceed with all due caution."

"Can I have me pistol back now?"

"You're very single-minded, Jack," Norrington accused.

"At least load them."

"What makes you think I haven't?" A smirk at Jack's confusion, then Norrington continued towards the ships, though somewhat more warily. The pirate shot his back a dirty look.

"An' serve ye right if ye get peppered wi' shot an' there's nobody t'cover yer back. Overconfident, selfish, arrogant…" Norrington purported to ignore him.

When they got closer, it was increasingly evident that there was, at least, somebody there. Who sounded familiar. And was trussed up in a fishing net on a pole that would, if the port was still inhabited, have held fishermen's trophies of the day.

"_Sei zhor. Sei zhor_." The creature whined constantly to itself in a litany. Jack recognized the language as some sort of Oriental dialect. It was the pinky clam-hermit-crab-headed crew member, late of the _Flying Dutchman_. The thing looked up wildly when they approached. "Cap'n! I tried, but…" it paused, and glared down at them, then sighed. "Jack Sparrow. Just me luck."

"And where did the others go?" Jack heard Norrington demand in a properly Commodorial voice, all stern and cold.

The large buildings behind them were weathered down and nested what looked like several families of birds, but the rain and sea had failed to erase the logo above the two large doors, one of which had nearly come off its hinges to show what looked like a ship building workshop behind it. Most of the tools still remained in the gloom, though what he could see were rusted and unusable.

"_Jones and Jones, Shipbuilders_," Jack read. "I'd be damned."

"The Cap'n's property!" Crab Head protested. "He'd be right mad, he will! The other 'umans took one of his ships! And… no, don't touch that one!" There was real fear in the creature's voice, and Jack spun on his heel to see what Norrington had gotten up to.

Norrington was admiring a small ship that was slightly larger than the late _Interceptor_. Its workmanship nearly took his breath away, and it put all the other four fine ships lined up in the harbor to shame. Rich, amber-brown mahogany had been buffed to a polish lovingly, the hull sleek like a dolphin. A fine gold design of spirals traced a curved line from stem to stern, intricate and gorgeous – the same design curved up the base of the mast. The bow was perfectly curved, and the ship seemed as though it was set for flight at any moment. The rail was painstakingly etched with what looked like patterns of seabirds, with several types that he did not recognize, their eyes inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The sails looked new, if slightly worn, and were of the finest quality – stark white, edged with pale gold embroidery. The ship had been crafted with joy, with love.

"This is the most beautiful ship I have ever seen," Norrington breathed.

Instantly, Jack felt the need to defend his _Pearl_. Sulkily, he retorted, "I bet she ain't as fast as me ship. An' she's fat. And squats in the water."

"Next you're going to tell me she smells funny," Norrington arched an eyebrow, obviously amused, chuckling when the pirate pouted. "Come on, Jack. It's only my opinion."

"'e doesn't mean it, missy. I'm sure o' it," Jack assured the sea, only for Norrington to cast his eyes heavenward for patience, and turn back to the trussed up creature.

"Where did Davy Jones get these from?"

"He made 'em. Didn't ye see the sign?" Crab Head said slowly, as though Norrington was incredibly stupid.

"When he was human, I suppose. But they didn't rot like the rest of the town."

"Ye'd accept th'fact that 'e 'as a ship that can dive into th'sea an' command a giant squid, but not that 'e can keep five ships sparkly clean an' pristine for years?" Jack asked incredulously. He wandered over to where Norrington was standing, and peered up at the beautifully carved figurehead. A woman, each smile line lovingly picked out, her hair swept behind in a wild mane, her hands raised with joy to the sun. And frowned. And then looked up at the calligraphy of the ship's name.

"_Tia_. What a rather… er… short name for such a beautiful ship." Norrington mused, following his gaze. And very obviously itching to climb aboard.

"Explains a lot of things." Jack said very slowly, looking back at Crab Head, who blinked at them in confusion. Her pride. The hidden sorrow. Her willingness to help, so easily. Hiding herself in an island, away from most of her people. How a Dutch immigrant learned the way to cut out his heart and still live. And he had seen Tia Dalma several times in his career as a pirate, but she had never seemed to get any older.

"Really." The cultured voice reminded him of how he had better reel back his Commodorial catch before this saucy… intruder… seduced _his_ Jamie away. Norrington had, despite renewed protest from Crab Head, climbed aboard, letting out the occasional low whistle or exclamation of delight when he found something particularly pretty. Then finally, so much like a captain, headed up to the helm, running those aristocratic fingers over it, letting out a low hum.

Jack shot Crab Head a dirty look, as if it was his fault, then turned back to Norrington, speaking in his best wheedling voice. "Why not th'other ships, Jamie-luv? Think 'bout it. A big ship, wi' lots o' cannons, a lot more use to yer Navy than… than this boat."

"It's obvious that Davy Jones treasures this ship most, Jack," Norrington said patiently. "Therefore, in the even that he catches up with us, he's unlikely to use it for cannon fodder… or a chew toy for a squid."

"Yer going to right piss 'im off, though, ye are."

Norrington shot Crab Head a pointed glance. Obviously not wanting to talk about the heart, but Jack got his point. There was no way he could piss Davy Jones off any more than he already had. But then, at the moment, the cursed captain didn't have any reason to chase them, either. Still, it was likely that whoever took one of the ships would get chased, anyway. But he would likely go after this ship first.

Perhaps that was Norrington's point, as well. Wanting to spare 'Lizabeth. Stupid notions of chivalry, perhaps. Or he really loved the boat.

Jack felt a stab in his gut that seemed suspiciously like jealousy.

"Jack," Norrington was leaning over the rail now. And yes, there was that damnable smirk. "I'm leaving without you."

"Aw'right, m'coming," Jack growled irritably.

Crab Head groaned in misery. "_Sei zhor. Sei zhor._"

--

Norrington wouldn't relinquish the helm, so Jack was left to explore the ship by himself. Whatever magic preserved the ship had also preserved supplies – wine, expensive food supplies in a functional galley – as well as other trappings that made up for some of Jack's foul mood. A ship crafted of love, for love, it seemed – though Jack thought it likely that much of the furnishings had been added after Davy Jones had begun his career of plunder. Beautiful oil paintings, all of assorted landscapes, far-away places. Crystal cups and antique silverware. Rosewood furniture adorning rich Persian carpets. Jack felt slightly guilty tracking sand over them.

A bookshelf of poetry and sketches in a ladies' room, with dresser, wardrobe. No bed, how amusing. Privacy, but not sufficient privacy… and Tia, well, she lived deep in a swamp. Said a lot about a person.

The captain's cabin was sumptuous, a little tastelessly so. A large round rosewood table, filigreed in silver, with matching chairs, the square cloth on it a map of the world, carefully dyed. The carpet the pelt of some sort of huge white bear. A globe set on a side table. Wardrobe, bookshelf containing tomes of naval history, and ship-related details. And a bed that looked like it could contain at least three people, with cream sheets and plush pillows. Jack shook his head with a wicked grin. Perhaps this ship had its redeeming points. 'Course, it was still not a spot on the _Pearl_.

Jack went back up to the bridge, and Norrington frowned at his irrepressible grin. "Anything good?"

"No rum. But not too bad," he replied, a little _too_ off-handedly. The other man shot him a suspicious look.

"Suppose you didn't find a compass."

"I 'ave one, mate."

"Right now I think we'd be better served with one that pointed north."

"Gimme th'helm and I'd get us back t'Port Royal, no problems."

"Jack," Norrington said patiently, "We're going to Tortuga, or somewhere you feel is safe, to drop you off."

"And 'ow are ye going to get t'Port Royal all on your onesies? 'Tis a big ship fer one man."

"I'd manage," Norrington said mildly. "All I need to do is move in close enough to be picked up by one of the patrols. And besides, I am sure Beckett has men watching the area around Tortuga." A pause. "I do hope you know how to hide there. And stay out of trouble."

"No worries, mate, if I wanted to," Jack said cheerfully. Again that suspicious glance. Seemed his Jamie might want him, but not trust him. "Seems a pity though, bringing this ship there."

"What do you mean?" Fingers tightened a little possessively on the helm. Jack scowled.

"T'aint no use for its like in the army. The cannons are pretty, but prob'ly ornamental. An'…" Jack described the ladies' room, and the captain's cabin. When he got to the issue of the bed, Norrington blinked slowly, then flushed a little.

"Surely there is space for a hammock."

"No hammocks. Checked." Jack said happily.

"I'd sleep on the carpets, then."

Jack looked at him incredulously. "After yer…"

Norrington's shoulders tensed, his lips setting into a thin line. "I'd rather not."

"Why?"

"It'd make it all that harder to leave. To do what I should. And it'd make it far too… too much of a temptation to ask you to stay. Even though you should go."

"Jamie-luv, I just walked th'entire day wi' me bum remindin' me o' th'fun we 'ad last night." Jack sidled closer. Norrington flinched.

"Sorry."

"I'm only going to need an apology if ye refuse to…"

A faint smirk. "One step ahead of you, Jack."

Jack growled, and cheated – a swift step forward and a twist, insinuating himself between Norrington and the wheel, hands dragging his head down for a fierce, possessive kiss. The ex-Commodore froze, then snarled in response, in frustration and need, one hand holding the helm firm while he crushed Jack against it with his longer body, desperation roughening the intimacy, tongues fighting, slippery against each other. Giving no quarter. The second kiss was slower, but Norrington's chest was heaving under wandering hands – the third was almost chaste, but it muffled a low moan as Jack rubbed himself shamelessly against the other man, in invitation.

Finally, "We are not doing this here."

"No?"

"No."

"What about downstairs? There's that big bed…"

"Jack Sparrow." A deep breath, smoothening the growl back into the cultured baritone. "We happen to have just stolen Davy Jones' most prized possession, and a ship that obviously has great sentimental value to him."

"That's why we need a plan."

"That involves the bed." Flatly spoken. Disbelieving. But Norrington didn't pull away.

"No, no. That involves hidin'." Jack grinned impishly. "An' I know who can help us wi' that."

"_After_ Port Royal."

Jack pouted. "It's on th' way, _really_. Don't you trust me at all, Jamie-luv?"

A long-suffering sigh, then an apology – lips brushed his scarf-covered forehead. "Who is this… person?"

Jack danced fingers up Norrington's ribs, making the other man hiss softly in pleasure. "Wouldn't ye like t'meet th'woman whose likeness is on yon prettily carved figurehead?"

Green eyes sparked with sudden curiosity. Jack had to stifle a grin. He was very good at reeling in fishies, when he wanted to.

--


	4. Grace

Chapter 4

Grace

Content to let Jack navigate, Norrington spent a lot of time reading his way through the books in the shelves indiscriminately – somehow managing to amuse himself with both poetry and naval issues – while lounging on deck against finely etched rails with the most endearing insouciance. Jack was glad that _Tia _was smooth to sail under his touch (though of course, nowhere as sweet as his _Pearl_, bless her bonny sails), as it allowed him to watch, and think of suitable plans of revenge for after they reached Tia Dalma's island.

They kept near reefs and shallows as much as they could, wary of the open sea still. No more frightening midnight visits from ex-crew members, however, and no resurgence of black spots made Jack feel increasingly more reassured. It was likely that Davy Jones had gone back to searching the island for the heart after looking through the _Pearl_, and so they had some sort of head start, at least.

He weighed anchor at a reef in the afternoon, as the winds dropped and the current threatened to pull them off course. Norrington looked down at the sea, then the sky, and finally at the furling sail, then shrugged and went back to his book.

Jack pouted. _Why, that_…

The water was beautifully clear, and for a moment Jack forgot his irritation at currently unattainable ex-Commodores as he looked over the rail. Gaily hued fish darted around gorgeous lattices of coral in colours rich enough to rival any forest on the land. Translucent pink and cream sea anemones fluttered in the water under shoals of tiny, silvery fish, like molten glass as they rippled in perfect harmony with each other. Larger fish lurked closer to the coral, stately and still, only their fins flickering. The sea was his mistress, for there could be no woman living who could match such beauty. Above, sea birds wheeled and called to each other, suggesting that land was close by.

The reef suggested to Jack a mischievous method of revenge that could be had right at this moment, without breaking his word (not that he had actually agreed to anything, but his Jamie likely would take a dim view of that, with his so very Navy need for promises, accords, agreements). Besides, the day _was_ getting fairly balmy…

He began whistling as he shed his clothes onto the deck, carefully folding the torn shirt over the urchin bone and compass to hold them in place, then slipped off his boots, and finally the hat, placed lovingly on the pile of clothes. The pirate didn't need to check on Norrington to know that he held the other man's full attention.

"What _are_ you doing?" Wariness.

"M' takin' a swim, Jamie-luv, 'till th'wind comes back our way," Jack replied mildly. "An' I don't 'ave a pair of spare pants."

Norrington hastily looked back at his book, swallowing. Jack grinned wickedly, totally unselfconscious as he climbed up onto the rail and dived into the cool water. Tattoos shifted as he swam, effortless and supple as a seal, just as home in the sea as over it, playfully chasing shoals of fish, only surfacing briefly for air. He could almost feel those pretty green eyes burning into his back, but purposefully pretended not to notice. Experience with what stung or bit back and what didn't let him play with relative safety, running fingers over velvety coral, poking at clams that snapped shut in agitation.

Just as he was beginning to bore of the game, rope slapped into the water next to his face as he surfaced, knotted to the rail on the side of the gangway. Norrington had apparently disappeared. Frowning, Jack climbed back up to the ship, and then relaxed when he saw that the other man had simply moved away such that the mast blocked any possible view of Jack.

"Th'water's great, Jamie. Sure ye don't want t'join me?"

"No, thank you." Clipped, and cold, formally polite, from somewhere behind the mast.

"M' going t'try an' fish up some lunch."

"Suit yourself."

Jack replaced only his scarf, sea urchin spine and tricorn hat, padding below decks to locate a fishing pole and something he could use for bait. Shredded bread seemed adequate, and he went back up, perched on the rail above his clothes, and cast his line, waiting for the sun to dry him out.

Two more casts, and finally, "Jack."

"What?"

"At least put on a towel."

"T'aint nothin' ye don't 'ave or 'aven't seen, Jamie-luv. 'Sides, ye don't 'ave t'look if ye don't like it." Jack allowed his voice to sound slightly accusatory, as if he resented any notion of the so-called propriety upon which Norrington seemed to place so much importance.

A long-suffering sigh, but silence.

After his first catch, Jack finally deemed the drying salt on his skin annoying enough to be a bother, and rubbed himself off brusquely with the torn shirt before shaking it out and putting it on, followed by the rest of his possessions. "Hungry?"

"No." Positively icy, now. Jack wouldn't have been surprised if the deck started to freeze over.

"Suit yerself." Jack grinned as he looked over the other's tense frame. "T'wouldn't be me fault if ye starve t'death."

Norrington's only response was a soft growl.

In the end, Jack relented enough to share. Grilled fish, bread and cheese (the latter two sliced a little haphazardly) and a glass of wine were brought back up for Norrington after he had eaten his fill. "'Ere. I knows yer not hungry, but t'aint right t'have fresh fish go t'waste, 'specially since ye might decide ye ain't not hungry after all an' 'ave the fish not go t'waste, which it would now."

"Thank you." Norrington looked up at the peace offering, then back at his book. Jack watched him in silence for a moment, and then placed the food and drink within reach, scratching absently at his beard, wondering if he'd pushed Norrington too far with his latest antics. "Jack."

"Now what?"

"The wine." Norrington looked up with a faint smirk. "White with fish, Jack. In most cases."

The breeze that signaled the resurgence of the wind probably was the only thing that could (and did in fact do so) have saved Norrington from having red dyed into his already disreputable shirt.

--

They made good time, with no sight of any other ships, and at the onset of night Jack steered the ship toward the shallows of the island that the extensive reef they had come upon during the afternoon protected, and weighed anchor. More fish for dinner. Afterward, Jack looked out towards the darkening water that ceded into a cloak of emptiness beyond. The cries of sea birds had ceased long ago; the only sounds now the caress of the sea against the beautiful ship, and the distant corresponding wash of the surf on white shingle. "Think we should keep watch?"

"I'm not sure what that would accomplish," Norrington replied dryly. "Even if Davy Jones and his crew somehow find us, and mean to kill us in our sleep by somehow managing to stealth aboard this ship, we have an excellent means of negotiation." He frowned at Jack's sudden grin. "Am I missing something?"

"I feel exactly th'same! Let's retire."

Norrington didn't get up. "We agreed…"

"That I don't make any attempts on yer virtue. I can share th'bed an' still keep me promise, Jamie. Nothin' 'appened to 'Lizabeth when we were on that island, see? 'Course, if yer worried about yer own self-control…" He fluttered his fingers in a salacious gesture, while he arched an eyebrow in obvious challenge.

The ex-Commodore rose to his feet in a fluid move, and stretched, glancing up at the clouds that scudded over the pattern of stars. When he looked back at Jack, smoldering green eyes held an answering challenge, his (so kissable) lips set in a mischievous twist. "Not at all. Regarding yours, on the other hand, Captain Sparrow…" He made as though to walk towards the cabin, but as he brushed past Jack, leaned closer so warm breath framed his purred whisper, "… I admit that I am beginning to entertain some doubts."

Jack stood alone on deck for a while after Norrington had left, taking a deep breath and reminding himself that _Captain_ Jack Sparrow never lost a dare, nor broke his word when sworn on his _Pearl_. No matter how tempting it would be, pretty ex-Commodores be damned.

However, he was definitely not above cheating, within reason.

--

The mistreated coat had been hung on the stand, the shirt folded atop a chair, boots perfectly aligned beneath it. One pistol and sword on the side table, the other likely under the pillow Norrington had appropriated on the far end of the bed against the wall, bared back to Jack, blanket pulled to broad shoulders. Jack divested himself of his clothing, save breeches, in a haphazard jumble over the table and climbed in, quickly snuggling against warm skin with a purr.

"Jack…" An irritated hiss. The pirate in question buried his face in the nape of Norrington's neck, and yawned ostensibly. As much as he definitely wanted to jump the other man's bones right at this moment, he could be as patient as any cat if he had to be, and he was determined to win this little game, using any number of dirty tricks in his considerable repertoire. Besides, it wasn't unpleasant, just holding the other man like this – when lust wasn't present to color intimacy. Try as he might, Jack could only faintly recall the last time he had been able to hold another person like this.

"Sweet dreams, Jamie."

A muttered stream of words that even at this proximity, Jack could not catch, but which ended with "…Insufferable."

He grinned into Norrington's neck, and drifted into a shallow sleep.

--

Jack woke when Norrington shifted gently out of his grasp, but was careful not to actually give any indication of doing so, keeping his breathing slow and even. From the weight on the bed, it seemed like the other man was watching him – and he had to restrain himself from purring when hesitant fingers slid lightly over his shoulders, tracing the dips of muscle and the edges of tattoos. Then the edges of a callused palm and similarly roughened, slightly splayed fingers, stroking his side, with such careful tenderness that Jack had to fight to keep his pretense, exert all of his considerable self-control and patience.

Norrington was obviously mapping his body in what light was provided by the moon, keeping up the petting while his other hand ran curious fingers over cheekbone and chin, feather-light touches that randomly explored the valleys between ringed fingers, delicate knuckles, and the bridge of Jack's nose. A finger traced his lips, then his brow, and then examined one string of beads slowly as though memorizing their patterns and texture. Jack even managed, somehow, to keep from purring when warm lips pressed against the curve of his shoulder, and from protesting when all touch was abruptly withheld. 'Lizabeth would never know what she was missing.

"Beautiful." The barest whisper, bemusement edged with sadness. Then the bed shifted again as Norrington seemed to carefully get out without touching him further, padding away. Jack waited until the man seemed to have moved out of hearing range, then groaned, turned over to bury his face in a pillow, and curse fluently in at least two languages. What was the point of the damned agreement when his Jamie had to go and do these… these… things to him at night? Muttering to himself, Jack started on his third language of curses when his frustrated brain reminded him that Norrington had in fact been gone a mite longer than was required for a call of nature.

Curious, Jack rolled out of the warm bed and skulked over to the door, opening it as softly as he could, and sidling out onto deck. No signs of large, seaweed crusted ships with far too many guns than was remotely possible, check. No attractive ex-Commodores, either. Jack scowled absently out in the direction of the island, and then checked on the lifeboat. Still there. No sounds of splashing which would suggest a midnight swim.

Extremely curious now, and a little worried, Jack padded back below deck, stealthily checking through all the cabins, the galley, before slowly descending into the hold, careful to step on the edges of the stair and make as little noise as possible. Heavy breathing suggested that Norrington was somewhere in the darkness, though some distance from the stairs. Jack settled down to listen – eavesdropping was merely the sign of the cautious.

Breathing punctuated by soft gasps that roughened quickly into what seemed like sobs, and a thump of what was likely Norrington's head against the wood. Jack frowned for a moment, wondering whether or not to make his presence known or leave, then blinked when, hidden in the dark, his Jamie moaned his name. He recognized this sequence – though the eventual soft cries were knife-edged with pain that seemed soul-deep, beyond Jack's ability to fully grasp. "Jack… God, Jack… please…" A litany that plucked both at his heart and at his groin. Jack had to shift uncomfortably when with a hiss and a sob; it seemed Norrington found his absolution. His kohl-rimmed eyes stung, and he felt dizzy with unwanted knowledge that seemed too difficult to sort out. _Not just want then, is it, Jamie_?

The heavy breathing abruptly stopped at the faint creak that Jack's weight made as the pirate attempted to leave as stealthily as he had arrived, however, and Jack grimaced in panic.

"Jack?" Tense shock.

Jack fled.

--

Unfortunately, it was a small ship, and the best place Jack could think of was to perch behind the likeness of Tia Dalma, and wonder what she would say. "_Youse a bad man, Jack Spar-row._" Probably something like that. Thinking of women inevitably reminded him of his _Pearl_, and he noted that she wasn't laughing now… and in fact, seemed to be annoyed with him.

That frightened him far more than anything else at the moment, even the possibility of murderously angry ex-Commodores – he even developed a cold sweat, shivering despite the relatively warm breeze that tugged at his hair, and he waved his hands agitatedly at the sea, speaking softly, but urgently. "T'was an accident, missy! Didn't mean t'walk in on him like that, I did! M' worried when I didn't see him on deck, t'was all!"

There was that definite feminine sense of exasperation, then Jack's mind pictured the skinny dip and the nude fishing, the cuddling and other relevant facts in such crystal clear detail that it was obviously touched by the supernatural – in this case, a pissed-off ship. Harmless flirting only, that was! And it wasn't as though his Jamie would have expected him to simply behave himself. That wasn't the bargain, after all, was it?

Jack flinched as the sense of irritation against him seemed to worsen. Bad, bad… he never recalled his _Pearl_ having been this annoyed with him ever before.

"That? That was just me 'avin' some fun, t'was all – no more fun than 'e 'ad at me expense before," Jack was aware that he was whining, and smoothed his voice somewhat. "I'm sorry, missy. All this… this thinkin'… an' th'eggshell dancin' on prickly, t'aint me finer point at all. An' who's t'know 'e gets mad so easy?"

"I'm not angry," Norrington said quietly somewhere behind him. In his shock, Jack nearly fell off his perch and into the sea, but he recovered, refusing to look back.

"M' sorry." A low laugh. "M' seem t'be sayin' that a lot."

Jack felt Norrington nod against his hair, as the other man pressed behind him and loosely encircled his waist with long arms. Which, he noted idly, as he automatically leaned back into the embrace, had been fastidiously wiped clean. "You just surprised me." A deep breath born of embarrassment. "If… if I'd woken up in the night and you were gone, it was likely that I would have gone looking for you, as well." The faltering, so British voice turned wry, amused. "Though I feel that I should be hurt, that what you're upset about is that your… ship is apparently annoyed with you. And not that I may be so."

"One thing at a time, mate," Jack muttered, resting his palms on warm skin. "See, I can make it up t'ye, since yer here an' all. But I can only speak t'her if she feels like. That makes apologisin' real difficult if she don't want to 'ear it."

Norrington chuckled against his back, shaking his head slightly. "I find that to be the case with women, in general." Jack blinked as his shirt was eased down over his shoulders, to his elbows, long fingers briefly tracing the fine threads where buttons had been ripped free. Then soft kisses were being pressed to his shoulders, lingering over the curves and the nape of his neck. Jack immediately forgot his next question regarding Norrington's experience with women, 'Lizabeth excluded, and arched his back slightly with a gasp.

"Thought ye didn't want any…" fingers tapped at empty air as his increasingly clouding brain tried to come up with words, "… debauchin' goin' on before we reach Tia Dalma."

"That was the plan, yes," Norrington agreed mildly, lips settling on the juncture of shoulder and neck and sucking hard for a moment, then licking the reddened mark that likely appeared. Jack moaned, then whimpered as lips and tongue began to explore his spine.

"If ye keep this up, Jamie-luv, there's going t'be debauchin', an' then some, right now," he warned breathlessly, "An' t'wouldn'a be me fault, since ye started it."

"No, Jack, you did," the bland voice was now a growl, within which the undercurrent of want and frustration was deep, causing heat to pool down in Jack's groin. "Going about without your clothes on in the afternoon. All that shameless flirting. Prancing about on deck, like any whore out of Tortuga, and just as unashamed." Jack gasped as the warm tongue ran back up to his nape, then whimpered as fingers began to tease and flick at his nipples. "There's a limit as to what I can take."

"T'wasn't an actual attempt on yer virtue, mate. Since tha'd be in th'sense o' me possibly tryin' t'initiate some sort o'… oh God… physical sort o' entanglement, rather than just 'aving… 'aving a swim an' fishin' fer our lunch, which 'ad nothin' t'do wi' the actual attemptin' an'…"

"Jack. Shut up." A firm rub down the fabric over his swelling shaft, then Jack was gently turned about. Seated, Jack was just about on face level with Norrington, which his Jamie proved was very convenient, as he leaned forward to kiss him, tugging at his lower lip with teeth momentarily, then that clever tongue ran over his teeth. His hands constrained by the pooled shirt, which seemed a little hard to shrug off at the moment with impaired concentration, could only run frantically over ribs and belly. Norrington gasped breathlessly into a kiss as Jack wrapped his legs around him and yanked him closer, the heat in his breeches likely evident against his stomach.

"Yer… yer not goin' t'be mad after this, are ye?" Jack managed to get out when Norrington drew back to explore his neck, then an old cutlass wound high on his chest. "Seein' as we don't agree on th'point o' fault."

Norrington glanced up at him for a moment. Green eyes danced with mischief now, even as they were dark with lust. "Are you worried about whether I would be upset with you, and those consequences, or are you worried about your _Pearl_?"

"Both!" The word a strangled yelp as Norrington turned his attention to a nipple, showing that he was a quick study, the previous day's lessons being well learned indeed. Even if he showed a tendency to nip. Of which it wasn't as though Jack was actually objecting, if he could indeed muster the concentration to do any objecting through the heavy fog of need. He bucked insistently into fingers that fumbled with his breeches, and then sucked in a gasp as they were yanked down to his knees, and he was pulled forward to the edge of the rail.

Norrington grasped his hips with both hands, squeezing them gently to get the pirate to meet his eyes. "So. Is this the point where I should be upset that I am about on par with a sunken pirate ship in your opinion? And maybe lower, in fact?"

Jack stared at him, open-mouthed, speechless for one of the few times in his life, mouth working as he attempted to come up with a suitable reply. Norrington smirked, and then purred, "Consider this a bid for your attentions, Captain Jack Sparrow."

cut

Release was so sweet. Somewhere in the warm haze he could feel Norrington lapping him clean, then pulling him close and nuzzling his neck, chuckling softly. When he had enough of a grasp of his brain from wherever it had melted, he murmured, "What's so funny?"

"The bid, Jack."

Jack groaned. "Ye 'spect me t'think right now?" Absently, automatically, he felt for the presence of his _Pearl_, then slumped slightly in relief. At least she was no longer annoyed at him, just curious.

Thankfully, Norrington didn't press the issue, only chuckled again, irritatingly self-satisfied. Jack wasn't sure he could pull together enough of his mind to balance both his _Pearl_'s sensitivities and those of an ex-Commodore in his answer. After a few more deep breaths of the night breeze, the remaining tension in the other man and the scent of what they had just done reminded Jack of something he'd forgotten. He touched his hands to the laces of Norrington's breeches, looking up at him questioningly.

"That would likely count as an attempt on my virtue," Norrington chided him mildly, though his eyes and body gave an absolutely different signal – coiled, like a big cat about to spring, narrowed eyes just as predatory.

"Actually, 'm suggestin' tha' u make a further an' more thorough attempt on mine," Jack replied just as blandly, and innocently. "Seein' as ye 'ave th'better o' old Jack at th' moment."

"Ah, but that would defeat the purpose of the agreement in the first place, which was to not indulge in intercourse." An arm supported his back; the other stroked a bare thigh, exploring the corded muscle, the curve of the knee, the joint.

"Y'sure it 'as nothin' to do wi' driving an' old pirate crazy?"

"I doubt you can get any madder than you already are, Jack." A light kiss on sashed forehead. "Soon you'd start talking to this ship as well, and we'd have two women in our lives, of whom both I have never seen."

Jack had to hide his grin at the 'we'. Too quick to speak of leaving and forever, his Jamie, when his subconscious at least was clear on the matter. "Sure ye 'ave."

"As ships."

"Exactly me point. Funny what ye'd believe. Undead pirates an' a submersible ship with crawlies, but not magic ships that can be crewed by men."

"It's a little difficult to disbelieve what's right in front of my eyes," Norrington pointed out. Jack felt him grin against his forehead. "However, seeing as the first person I ever wanted turned out to be in love with a blacksmith, and now the second person seems to be in love with a ship, I do have to wonder if I am moving down the scale, as it were."

"M' _Pearl_ will be terribly annoyed wi' ye if ye rank 'er below th'whelp," Jack poked him in the chest.

"_Obsessed_ with a ship," Norrington corrected himself in a drawl.

"All this is no doubt terribly interesting, but…" Jack tugged suggestively Norrington's belt, looking up in an expression of mute pleading. The other man frowned, baring his teeth slightly in a mute snarl, and then seemed to shake himself out of it.

"No."

"Oh, for God's sake, man…"

A finger on his lips, and that damnable smirk. "Perhaps it would help if you were to contemplate, Jack Sparrow, all nuances of the words 'self-control'." Another kiss on his forehead, then Norrington drew away, chuckling to himself as he went below deck.

Jack growled in frustration. _Bloody ex-Commodores…!_


	5. What's Mine, What's Yours

Chapter 5

What's mine, what's yours

Jack steered the ship expertly into the cove where he normally hid the _Pearl_, whenever it struck his fancy to come and visit, and set about preparing the lifeboat. He was relieved to note that there was, as he had hoped, no other ship in sight. Gibbs had likely steered whichever ship they had stolen to this very place as well – a loyal man, with a great heart, drinking problem aside, but also a very predictable one. Norrington was looking about the jungle island in curiosity, a professional eye noting the site and features of the shoreline, then frowning at the thick vegetation that covered steep hills in distaste. "We're supposed to trek through _that_?"

"No, no. There's a way up river. 'Tis here that I put me _Pearl _when I've a mind t'visit, is all." Jack bit out an oath at the tight knots, and without having to ask, Norrington was there, taking over efficiently with nimble fingers.

"What sort of lady lives in these sorts of places?" Norrington finally asked, when they'd managed to lower the boat into the water without any further mishap. Jack clambered down first, then reached out to help the other man, who simply arched an eyebrow at him and shook his head slightly. Right. A seaman, and a proud one. Always forgot that.

"Yer rowing," Jack said quickly, seating himself at the prow. Norrington grumbled, but didn't object.

At his direction, they started out from the cove and towards the mouth of the inland river. Birds screeched at them overhead, some of the more curious island ones even landing in the water close by to cock a beady eye at them. Jack was watching (the feathers of) one brightly plumed blue and white one with some amount of avarice, when he realized Norrington was speaking. "I asked you a question, Jack."

"Right. The lady." Jack pushed his hand into the clear water, trailing fingers through the wake of the boat. "She's what ye'd call a witch. There, I said it."

"And so, by your particular brand of logic, that explains everything to me," Norrington drawled.

Jack leaned forward, and pressed fingers against one tanning wrist, his expression one of mock seriousness. "Not to worry, Jamie-luv. T'aint yer fault if yer slow to grasp th'more difficult things in life. 'Tis th'Navy I blame, an' mebbe yer private school upbringin', an' mebbe not enough o' bein' properly laid. We can fix th'last 'un, you an' I."

Norrington rolled his eyes. "The more difficult things in life. Like the idea of magic ships, and witches."

"Most absolutely," Jack clapped his hands together, winking impishly. "Slowly does it, Jamie. Yer getting there, ye are." The other man snorted, apparently not bothering to comment further, to Jack's relief. He wasn't sure how much of what he thought had happened was true. Maybe Tia Dalma was a descendant of the 'Tia' for whom the ship had been crafted, or maybe she was simply unrelated (though this he felt was probably unlikely). Maybe (and this would be bad) Tia would not care for him knowing this particular piece of her family history (or personal history). Jack grimaced briefly at the mental image of a little doll of him stuck full of needles. And maybe having wax dripped slowly onto it.

"She isn't somebody you've annoyed in the past, is she?" Apparently Norrington hadn't missed the expression change. The sunlight was being filtered through thick overhanging canopy, now, and the mottled light made the ex-Commodore look rather exotic. Or would have, if he wasn't obviously so nervous. Apparently he had noticed Tia's sentries – members of the native people who were her students, or attendants – Jack had never figured that out, and Tia had never liked to share much about herself.

"No, no, we're as thick as thieves, we are," Jack assured him hastily. He'd been worried the last time, but it seemed Tia had already forgiving him for… well, thieving. He had stolen things that time too, so, admittedly, she could be angry with him now… and… mental image of voodoo dolls…

"Because, correct me if I'm wrong, but you seem… worried." Norrington remarked. Jack tore his gaze away from the treeline and its well-hidden sentries, and back to his Jamie. The coat was barely able to hide flexing muscle that effortlessly manipulated the oars, and Jack would have been content to sit silently at watch – but it seemed Norrington had other ideas. "Jack."

"Well. Spooks me out, what she does," Jack decided to use a truth to cover for him. "M' might 'ave me _Pearl_, but voodoo magic spooks me out right proper. Even the potions."

Norrington looked as though he was struggling to realign what remained of his very British, educated world view, with the suggestion that voodoo magic was very real, and in fact, was about to be in evidence at their destination. It was quite adorable, really. The man had already come so far, and he was uncomfortable about going to see a witch, when he had faced down pirates and monsters with courage. More importantly, he seemed to have accepted Jack's explanation. "I see. I admit it all seems very unlikely."

"Ye'd be convinced when ye meet her. An', er, I ain't knowin' 'ow ye'd treat women o' colour, but ye'd be better off if ye treat her wi' respect. Tia Dalma's th'queen o' this island, ye could say."

Norrington frowned. "Do you take me for a bigot, Jack?"

"T'was only a suggestion."

"Jack. If, when I was on the _Pearl_, your first mate had still been in command, I would have been as comfortable sailing under her as I would you." A smirk. "Perhaps more so. For at least she was obviously capable, from what I have seen of her, _and _doesn't appear to be mad."

"I'd take yer word for it, Jamie-luv," Jack nodded, reassured. He hadn't warned young Will to this extent, but had been sure that he would be well received, enough to cover any possible accidental insult. And, as it turned out, _far_ too well received – Tia had seemed willing to forget business altogether at the sight of a pretty boy. It was exactly why he had always taken William Turner Senior along with him, previously, whenever he had wanted to talk to Tia – though it was Barbossa, silver-tongued, snake witted, charismatic Barbossa, with whom she had ended up making fast friends with. She had been deeply hurt to hear of the mutiny – had, in fact, cosseted Jack for the first time ever after that, as if in mute apology. That it had been her favorite who had marooned Jack and sent Bootstrap to a living death in the depths.

As to James… Jack pulled thoughtfully at his beaded beard. Not exactly the sort of boyish pretty that Tia seemed to go for. Hopefully. Jack was very sure he would object to any sort of pawing at _his_ Jamie. And was promptly slightly frightened at the wash of possessiveness that thought caused.

"Whenever you're quiet, I start feeling nervous," Norrington remarked dryly, before he could deal with that.

"M' thinking. M' do that at times, ye ken."

"That's exactly my point."

Jack was saved from having to come up with yet another evasive answer when they came to the odd, lantern-lit house perched on a tree that Tia Dalma lived in. Odd plants flourished despite the darkness in hanging pots, giving out a musky, almost heady scent. The mist was thickening over the water, cold and clammy. Norrington started with an oath, rocking the boat, when dark hands grasped the sides and propelled the boat towards the small jetty, anchoring it in place with ropes. The mist had hidden their welcome – Jack got a glimpse of a white smile of mischief, as the dark-skinned boy dived back into the murky water. At the surrounding trees, men and women watched them, vigilant, motionless, like gorgeously crafted statues, leaves tufted into their hair, loincloths weaved of animal skins. Primitive weapons were grasped, or held close.

Oddly enough, there were candles apparently floating in the water, and the scent of burning wax. The mist cleared occasionally to show young women, the bowls of candles held in slender hands. They hummed one note, over and over, when Jack got out of the boat.

"Is this normal?" Norrington's voice sounded strained.

"Not quite," Jack replied, feeling rather nervous himself. The candles – held in a concentric pattern – suggested that some spell of magnitude had been cast sometime today. He had read as much once in a book that Tia had allowed him, while she conversed with Barbossa extensively over the native customs of far off tribes. They harmonized the flows, or whatever. He had only been partially paying attention at that time, instead having been deeply amused by Bootstrap's polite, but panicky attempts to ward off the attentions of any number of Tia's native female attendants in a broken version of their dialect.

--

Tia Dalma was waiting for them, lounging in her chair, getting up and sashaying to Jack with her hands held wide in welcome when they entered. "Jack Spar-row! Youse survive! Sit down, sit down!"

Jack smiled at her genuine relief and delight, even as his (thieving, he'd admit it) eyes professionally took in the bric a brac of the clutter in her cottage. Jewels and interesting little inlaid boxes lay in no apparent order amongst the skulls of small animals, dried plants, and yellowed parchment. There were a few strange oddities that were odd even in her possession – a telescope propped in the corner, with the seal of the Royal Navy beautifully etched into the side, a tarnished greatsword with a weaving Celtic pattern down its blade leaning against the door of another room, any number of rolled paintings and an enamel opium pipe from far off Cathay; all lay strewn over wicker and wood furniture.

"Miss Dalma," Norrington said with all the polite formality of his previous station in life, and bowed, full of courtly grace. Jack wasn't sure who was more surprised, himself, or Tia.

She glanced at the ex-Commodore thoughtfully, then at Jack, and grinned, showing discolored teeth. "An' who's this youse be bringin' to Tia, Jack?" She sidled over to Norrington, laughing in delight as he brushed his lips over her wrist. Jack had to stifle a growl when he noticed that his Jamie was obviously also enjoying her childlike delight with unfamiliar formalities, and stepped between them quickly.

"e's James Norrington. Ye know, the pirate hunter? Scourge of the pirates of the Caribbees, 'avin' nearly single-handedly hunted our kind t'extinction?" Jack pulled at face at Tia, who seemed unimpressed. "An' 'sides, we're 'ere on business. Again."

"Payment." Tia folded her arms, though she seemed to be giving Norrington the once-over, as much as he could be seen behind the slighter form of Jack, anyway. The pirate revised his previous estimate about Tia's type being only shy, innocent pretty boys.

"O' course," Jack fluttered his hands and grinned wickedly. "See, I was thinkin' 'bout how I could top that magic monkey, an' I found a magic ship instead. It's right in th'cove. Very pretty ship. Very magical. It'd take some sort'a genius to top even that!"

"_What_?" Norrington's voice was incredulous, and held a hint of outrage. Jack half turned and clapped one hand over thinning lips, just as he raised a finger at Tia.

"So, what's it t'be?"

"Jack Spar-row," Tia was shaking her head in disbelief. Dreadlocks and ornaments swept across a chocolate heart of a face, dark lips curved into a patient smile. "Youse think Tia didn't see ye bring dat ship, _dat ship she knows well_, onto her island?"

"Wouldn't think it at all," Jack said quickly, then flinched slightly when he felt a wet tongue against his palm. A quick glance up – Norrington's eyes were flashing mischief again. _Very_ inappropriate timing. Someday he'd have to speak to his Jamie about that. "I thought ye'd like it, seein' as 'ow we found it floatin' all by its ownsies on a deserted island, wi' nowt t'play with."

"Jack, Jack," Tia walked back to her chair, at sat down, wearily. "There would-a be six ships, and they be _White Tern, Lady Luck, Far horizon, Godspeed, Sea Dancer, _an' _Tia_. Five ships youse saw, since the chillun took _Lady Luck_. Four ships now, and Davy Jones be angry. He be _very_ angry indeed." She leaned forward with a faint smile. "'Sides, why would I be wantin' to trade what be already mine? Youse seen the name o' that ship. Youse seen whose face be on the figurehead."

"Half yours. _Half_," Jack grit his teeth at the soft kiss, and the nip, but managed to plaster on his most persuasive grin. "Half _his_. Or more, as ye'd know. I looked in th'ship, Tia, at 'ow it was made. Now ye can 'ave the ship, an' redecorate. An' it's still magic. Very shiny ship."

Tia Dalma seemed to consider this, frowning briefly as though recalling the past, and then she looked back up. "An' 'ow'd ye be getting' off my island, without a boat?"

Norrington seemed to tire of being left out of the conversation, and pulled Jack's hand away. "That was exactly what I'd like to know, Jack," he hissed dangerously. "_Why_ are we trading in my… er, that ship?"

"I'm sure we can prevail on ye t'get us to Tortuga, Tia," Jack said with a quick grin, "I knows ye buy a lot of things from Tortuga." The fact was, as much as it reminded him of days past that he would rather forget, lest they bring back a stinging reminder of betrayal, Barbossa had set up those trading channels for Tia. If anything, his later reputation as the captain of the 'haunted' _Black Pearl_ had only aided that.

He looked back at Norrington. "As to ye, it's 'cos we need help, an' I don't 'ave anythin' else to pay with, savvy?"

"You," Tia said suddenly, frowning, pointing at Norrington, when he opened his mouth to reply. "You have the heart."

"I thought ye'd 'ave known that from the moment we came in," Jack said, surprised. He had spent a long time believing that Tia was all but omnipotent, even.

Tia chuckled darkly. "When 'e cut out 'is heart, Jack, 'e cast spell, spell to hide it from Tia." She smiled, though it had no mirth in it. "The heart be a better trade."

"No, I have need of it for now," Norrington said quickly. "And I don't see what help we need here."

"We need t'be able t'hide on th'way back t' Tortuga, an' to… an' fer ye t'get to Port Royal, Jamie-luv," Jack said patiently. "'Else the thump-thump won't do ye no good at all. T'aint only Davy Jones that wants 'is heart, 'tis all manner of unsavory creatures that desire power over the seas. _An_', I need advice on 'ow t'get me ship back."

"And you can help us with that, Miss Dalma?" Disbelief, but polite disbelief.

"Aye, Miz Dalma, she know a lot-a things," Tia was grinning again, obviously amused at the both of them. "Jack Spar-row. Youse catch big fish this time. Maybe too big for you."

"I'd be the judge o' that," Jack said in annoyance. "So. Is th'ship payment enough?"

"Done," Tia shrugged, her odd dress of dyed skins shifting, and she leaned back in her chair, tapping her cheek. "Now, youse be sitting down?"

Norrington sat in the single uncluttered chair, while Jack elected to perch on a side table, examining a stained wooden goblet carved into the shape of a snarling wolf, the eyes oddly set with rubies. He looked up to see Norrington's warning glance, and put the cup back, clasping his hands and smiling as innocently as he could. At the raised eyebrow, he pouted, and reached into his coat, returning the gold-gilded quill that he had swiped from the other pile of clutter while Tia had been walking to her chair.

Unfortunately, the silent exchange hadn't been missed by the witch, who was, to Jack's annoyance, thoroughly enjoying herself. "I be wrong, Jack. Maybe youse the fish, an' ye don't know 'ow good ye'd been caught." She glanced at Norrington and steepled her fingers before her in a pyramid, "'Nobody could-a control Jack, not even when he was a boy an' his beard was refusin' t'grow. E'en when he came to Tia wi' that brand fresh on his poor arm, refusin' t'cry, like any other wee child 'is age would-a." Tia smiled, her eyes far away for a moment, affectionate. "'e say, 'M' a pirate now, Tia, this says it fer th'world t'know. M' marked a pirate, and m' goin' t'be th'best pirate they ever see.' Brave boy. Not so smart, but brave."

His Jamie leaned forward, the need for aid and information outweighed by his curiosity at this tidbit, obviously wanting to ask further questions, but Jack cut in quickly to break up the reminiscence. He was grateful to Tia for that incident, for hiding him, treating the blisters, nursing him through the fever that followed, but gratitude only lasted so far, and he was reluctant to let any stories of his childhood circulate further. "Tia. We'd need that spell o' hidin', an' th'information. His Pirate Huntership there is impatient t'get back t'Port Royal, an' all."

Tia got up, and went to the back room, again sorting through her junk with mutters that Jack couldn't quite catch. Norrington was reading some of the parchments upside down with apparent fascination, but he looked up quickly enough when Jack picked up a tiny figurine of a horse, carved from clear jade. Hastily, the pirate put it back, holding his hands up briefly in wry surrender.

"Did you trade your compass from here, or steal it?" Norrington murmured.

"I traded it. Fair," Jack said, trying to sound properly mortified at the accusation. "_Honestly_, Jamie."

The ex-Commodore snorted. "I do beg your pardon, but since we've entered, you've picked up some silver cufflinks, a dagger with an ivory and gold handle, and a couple of sapphire rings. Put them back, if you please."

Sulkily, Jack did so. It was a good thing James hadn't noticed the inlaid fan, the emerald-encrusted comb and the gold watch.

--

The 'spell' was rather disappointing – only a few muttered words over two odd lumps of items that looked rather like tattered feathers tangled together with beads of pierced animal teeth and dried strips of fur. Tia handed them one each. "And youse keep this with you whenever you can. They hide you from those you don't want t'see."

"Uh. Thank you," Norrington said rather dubiously, putting his into his coat.

"Now. Your _Pearl_," Tia smiled thoughtfully. "She be at th'bottom of the sea. Youse could-a get Davy Jones to bring 'er back up again, but there will be debt – and youse not so good at debts, Jack. An' there should-a be some things, you must not pay." She shot Norrington a significant glance. "Or you risk worse than soul. Youse risk heart."

"Some would argue th'soul, is, more valuable," Jack grinned, choosing to pretend that he hadn't seen Norrington's puzzled expression.

"Both valuable. Depends on situation," Tia replied impatiently. "Now. You want different way. But even if you bring up _Pearl_, youse have no crew."

"M' have a crew, they were just 'ere, I bet."

"They's be off to World's End," Tia shrugged. "Ye wouldn'a be seein' them fer a while."

"World's End? What in God's name for?" Jack asked incredulously, and then frowned suddenly. "No. No, you didn't."

"They owes it to you, Jack. Tia knows. The girl, especially, she owes you big, big." Tia's eyes were flinty, her voice low and fierce. "What use is heart, without soul? They take his soul from World's End, problem over. You use heart, bring back _Pearl_. They use soul, destroy him, destroy his magic. Forever. Finish. No more Davy Jones. You sail free until youse die."

"Except they don't know anything about how t'get to th'World's End, an' even then, 'ow to make it through to 'is soul!" Jack was aware that he was getting agitated. He was rather fond of his current crew, as well as the whelp and the girl. And it wasn't true – they didn't exactly owe him.

"Barbossa sails with them," Tia said quietly. "I use big magic."

"Just about all of the conversation is going above my head, but… _what did you say_?" Norrington chose that part to cut in incredulously, seeing as Jack's mouth was opening and closing like a fish in shock.

"Use _big_ magic, white man," Tia snapped, tapping her fingers on the table. "Bad magic break his soul and black his heart. I change it back. Balance, his life back. Balance, the chest and bad magic gone, forever. No more. Sea protect it now."

"So _that's_ why th'treasure island sank!" Jack yelped, his mind managing to grasp that one fact first. "_Tia_!"

Tia looked at Jack darkly, unrepentant. Untamable, unafraid of no man. "Youse not the only one hurt when he do what he did. That treasure best gone, Jack. And Tia remember Bootstrap William Turner. Handsome boy with a love in Eng-land who he love strong enough t'stay true to, but not love as much as the sea. Tia see his son, Tia remembers, but Tia could'na tell him – your father, he good man, but he love the sea more than he love you. The son also, good man. Tia want to help. Stab heart, that not save Bootstrap. Destroy soul, that free him. Turn back the bad magic."

"Did you tell young Will that?"

"Of course Tia tell him. Tia tell him, he want to help Jack, he destroy soul for Jack. And he chase heart no more, for heart do Bootstrap no good. He chase soul now."

"And… Barbossa?"

"Barbossa owe Tia big now," The witch's eyes were cold, but her voice was pained. "Tia hold his life in her hands. He betray again, Tia's vengeance will be worse than undeath."

Jack rubbed his temple, trying to think and absorb the information. So far, it seemed as though everything was doing good… unless Davy Jones caught up with his ex-crew and the young'uns. Other than Davy Jones, World's End lay in the distressing territory of Oriental pirates, who had flourished without the corresponding version of Norrington in that area, despite the presence of the East India Trading Company. Besides, there was the matter of his ship.

"So 'ow do ye suggest I raise me ship? I don't own th'heart at th'moment, an' th'spells would'a be o' any use if he knows where we are, and what Jamie has. Didn't ye suggest there could be another way t'raise her?"

"Voodoo magic is earth magic, spirit magic, woman's magic. Tia knows not."

"I'd raise the ship for you, Jack," Norrington said softly. Green eyes flashed with jealousy for a brief moment when Jack visibly brightened at the thought of seeing his _Pearl_ again, then smoothed back to icy glass. He looked down at his hands, chewing on his lip. "Perhaps at Tortuga, so you can start on refitting and repairs."

"T'aint got money, since _somebody_ sank me treasure island," Jack glanced at Tia accusingly. The witch sighed.

"Youse get the _Pearl_ fixed in Tortuga, Tia pay. Happy? Someday you make it up to Tia."

Jack grumbled, then thought of something else. "It'd just repeat th'problem. Davy Jones will just call that beastie out o' th'depths again."

"Jack, Jack," Tia smiled, "World does not center on you. Davy Jones, he be concerned over th'heart. Which…"

"Which I will bring to Port Royal. After raising the ship."

"And Lord Beckett will use it t'sink every pirate ship from 'ere t'Singapore, m'bet."

"Then it will be a fine time for you to become a privateer," Norrington smiled winningly.

Jack's jaw would have dropped to the ground if it could, to realize how he'd just been masterfully played. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait wait. M'said nothin' about privateerin'. An' I lost m'papers. _An' _there was only one pardon, which ye want yerself."

"It doesn't have to be permanent," Norrington said persuasively. Jack found the earnest green eyes extremely disconcerting. "Yes. _One _pardon. _But_ also one Letter of Marque. Which would amount to the same, for our purposes. I raise the ship, it doesn't get destroyed by Davy Jones, Mr. Turner and the others find the soul, and after it's been destroyed, you can go back to doing whatever you'd like. I get pardoned and reinstated, and you get a temporary reprieve, during which you can repair your ship. _And_, I have your papers."

The silence that ensued was only broken when Tia began to laugh, and clap. "Jack Spar-row. Youse canna run from this 'un, Tia thinks."

Jack growled, but ignored that for now. "We're placing a lot of trust on Barbossa, Will and 'Lizabeth, an' th'rest, here."

"Mr. Turner and Miss Swann have both proven to be extremely resourceful, despite their youth and rashness," Norrington said mildly. "But I am sure you can, after getting the _Pearl_ repaired, select a crew and go haring off after them, if that is your wish."

"Anamaria be in Kings-ton," Tia said suddenly. "Her business over. She wait for you, Jack. She need help soon."

"Just chalk that up on me social calendar," Jack groaned. A Letter of Marque. Norrington wouldn't understand why, out of principle, he couldn't accept that. And especially not from Lord Beckett, who had likely issued it precisely because he knew Jack would never accept it out of his own free will. A sucker bet made to children who were too in love with each other to do any sort of research before running off to the high seas.

However, at the moment, it looked as though he had no choice. It was the easiest way to get his _Pearl_ back up from the depths. Although there was so much that could go wrong, Jack was a canny enough gambler to know that he had just been dealt a decent hand, and it would be foolish not to play it through.

--

He said as much later to Norrington, when they were alone. Tia had instructed her attendants to prepare them both a spare hut in the tiny village where her disciples and guardians lived, knowing that Jack likely needed some time to think things over. She had gone off with a small escort to check out the ship they had brought her. "I won't accept the Letter. Nor anything issued by Beckett. 'e an' I, we 'ave bad blood between us."

"Jack," Norrington said mildly, but firmly, from where he was folding the tattered blankets provided into pillows on the pallet, "You sign the Letter, or I forge your signature."

"_Forgery_? On a guv'ment document? Ye'd be hanged!" Jack waved his hands quickly, shaking his head. Actually, he wasn't sure what happened to forgers, but like many pirates, he had a special place in his mind reserved for contemplations of the noose. "Short drop, sudden stop! T'aint fun at all, m'can tell ye."

Norrington tensed as though in pain. "I know, Jack. I had to watch the last time, remember? _I don't want to have to do that again_. If you can't keep to the Letter after Davy Jones has been neutralized… please, leave the Caribbean."

"Ye keep sayin' that, an' I'm going t'feel right unwanted, mate," Jack pouted, though he would have to admit to feeling rather… touched. He had no idea (the last time, at least) that Norrington had been watching the spectacle with anything other than the satisfaction of a job well done. "M'not leavin'."

"You know that's not true, Jack. And you'd have time to decide that for yourself, when you have your _Pearl_ again," A shuddering breath. "So. Will you sign this, or not?"

"M'don't 'ave a pen," Jack said sulkily, knowing he was being childish but not caring.

Norrington held out a quill and an inkbottle. "From Tia."

Grumbling, Jack very grudgingly signed 'Captain Jack Sparrow' in a flourish, and even inked and pressed his thumb next to it. "There." He tried to be furious, but Norrington's relief, so strong that he was unable to hide it, as he almost reverently pocketed the papers was far too endearing.

However, a plan involving his soon to be newly repaired _Pearl_, the heart, far Cathay and Norrington was beginning to fit itself together. If it wouldn't have been far too obvious, Jack would have started rubbing his hands together. And perhaps even have cackled a little (though even his overdeveloped sense of the dramatic knew that to be somewhat over the top).

It was no longer about revenge, Jack knew. It was about _winning_, and Norrington could not know how formidable a pair he and his _Pearl _were. Right now, he would concede a few skirmishes, until he was allied again with his lady love. But in the end, Jack Sparrow fully intended to have ship, James and the proud freedom he so prized.

_Take what ye can. Give nothin' back._


	6. Elaborate Game

Chapter 6

Elaborate game

Tia insisted they wait till nightfall (for reasons she didn't explain, but which Jack very much suspected had to do with her innate need for melodrama), but Norrington was equally adamant on daytime (though sunlight would make Davy Jones and co. so much more grotesque). For reasons she also would not disclose, Tia had elected to accompany them to Tortuga, throwing her small horde of personal attendants into a panic as they rushed to stock the ship bearing her name with all manner of odd personal belongings that were essential to the comforts of a voodoo mistress.

Much of the accoutrements of the captain's cabin had been stored rather haphazardly in the hull (his Jamie had been appalled at the cavalier treatment of the books, and had reorganized that himself), and by now it rather resembled a mobile version of Tia's cottage. It had seemed only gallant to give the lady the use of the only bed in the ship, whilst Jack and Norrington made do with carpets and the bear pelt in the ladies' cabin. His Jamie had refused, at first, to sleep in a so very feminine room – had even been willing to sleep on deck instead – and had to be persuaded via the means of saucy whispers in stolen moments. Finally, what with a small personal guard (also insisting on) following their mistress, the small ship had become very crowded indeed.

He frowned as he recalled his last exchange with Tia.

"How'd ye know that th'Kraken hadn't et me? 'Cos that chase ye set Bootstrap's son on, ye 'ad t'be mighty sure that I lived."

"Jack Sparrow… the land in the jar, youse remember? Tia use that. Tia see."

"Then why'd ye remark that I'd survived?"

Tia's smile had been sly, as she stole a glance at Norrington, where he stood directing some attendants in sign language and slow, patient English on the proper way of working the sails. "There be many ways t'be lost, Jack. That man, maybe he show you some time."

All further demands as to her meaning had been met with an enigmatic grin, and he'd finally given up in disgust to retake the helm, left to his own thoughts.

So it was with mixed relief that Jack sighted the shoreline of Tortuga, and steered their ship into a sheltered inlet. Which, to his irritation, already held a couple of other ships – smuggler's ships, by the looks of them – but which seemed bent on leaving them alone; even edging away surreptitiously, likely thinking the ship belonging to some rich (and heavily guarded) lord out on a tryst. The pirate captain stroked fingers absently over the compass at his waist as he leaned his chin briefly on the wheel with a sigh. He was sure the Gods, if there were any, liked to torment him most cruelly.

Although he had managed to persuade Jamie to share that small room with him, he'd been unable to actually do anything about the… or, as Norrington put it so succinctly, he had not been successful in any attempts on his virtue. Norrington proved to be positively skittish at the very thought of engaging in any sort of debauchery with so many people crowding the small ship and in earshot. Certainly an unforeseen problem. And Jack was painfully aware that time was running very short indeed.

"Here?" he asked Tia brusquely, who was frowning at the cloud-wreathed sun down at the deck, obviously rather disgruntled that Jack had voted in favor of Norrington. Some attendant had moved up a chair, and she lounged on it, fanned by two others who held long palm fronds, as though Queen of all she surveyed. Norrington leant on the mast, facing her – the both of them had, Jack noted sourly, gotten along very well during the voyage, the question of nightfall or daytime machinations excluded. On some occasions he'd caught them looking at him, and Norrington would smirk, while Tia would laugh and murmur something. It was all very annoying, and he felt exposed, without his _Pearl_ physically with him.

"It be good enough," she said, getting up and looking over the rail. Her attendants fanned a little faster as they moved to her side. Jack shook his head sadly at the foibles of strange little native tribes. "Youse be showing th'heart to the sea now." That, she directed at Norrington, who nodded and reached into his coat. He held a small felt bag that Jack was sure that he'd seen before somewhere in the clutter of Tia's home, and from it, he drew that rather disgusting lump of still-beating flesh. He reached into another pocket, and drew a small dagger sheathed in polished wood.

"Davy Jones," Norrington spoke in a clear, cool voice. "Attend me."

From behind the wheel, Jack shook his head and made cutting actions with his hands to indicate that, as introductions went, that was not a very diplomatic thing to say. And then had to stifle a yelp as the man (or monster) in question materialized on deck, tentacles slithering as he glared at the ex-Commodore.

Davy Jones was as furious as Jack had ever seen him, a sibilant hiss having worked its way into his voice, but he was stiffly polite as he addressed Norrington. "And what'd ye want o' Davy Jones, good sir? After having stolen me ship…" his voice trailed off as he saw the voodoo mistress. "_Tia_."

"Youse the second t'call me dat in a year an' a day, an' nowhere as welcome," Tia's voice was flat. "I come to see you do by your word. The ship be mine now."

"How?" Davy Jones snarled, whipping his head over to glare at Norrington, his pincer-hand snapping ominously at his side. It seemed to Jack for a single, frightening moment that, heart be damned, Davy Jones was going to exact his revenge, and to his surprise, found himself speaking.

"That would be me," he stepped out from behind the wheel and sidled quickly to Tia. "And I _borrowed _your ship. Wi' every intention o' returnin' it t'the original owner, or one of. Which would be her." He gestured floridly at Tia, who smiled thinly.

"_Jack. Sparrow_." The words bit out, sibilant with hatred. If looks could kill…

"An' far be from me t'interrupt our touchin' reunion, but ye got yerself a situation, mate," Jack said quickly, pointing at Norrington, who seemed to be eyeing the heart in his hand, and the dagger in his other with equal interest.

Davy Jones took in a deep breath, the (gill? Breathing tentacle?) tube at the side of his mouth dilating. When he spoke again, his voice was tightly controlled. "So. I ask ye again. What ye be wantin' o' me, sir?"

"Firstly, I'd trouble you to raise the _Black Pearl _from the depths as soon as possible, and return her into the safekeeping of Captain Jack Sparrow, here in Tortuga," Norrington said with the practiced care of any lawyer. "Secondly, you will pledge to trouble him and his ship no more, directly or indirectly. Thirdly, after accomplishing the first task, you are to take yourself and your men back to the island where your heart was previously stored, and there await further instructions."

"And am I to have any idea as to what these 'further instructions' be, sir?" Davy Jones drawled, fury etched into each word, the tentacles of his beard writhing like panicked snakes.

"No. You may go." A dismissal made in the smooth voice of one used to command. Jack entertained the sudden incongruous notion of how incredibly sexy that voice could be in the bedroom, and stifled it quickly. Distraction bad.

"Wait. I be askin' some time t'speak t'old friends," Davy Jones said quickly, glancing at Tia. Whose eyes narrowed. "Beggin' yer leave."

Norrington looked slightly nonplussed for a moment, turning to Tia and Jack for their opinion. Jack was shaking his head furiously, hands waving before him, but Tia tapped her lip with one black nail, and shrugged. "Tia talk to you. Here."

Davy Jones looked pointedly at the large numbers of curious hangers-on, including a pirate captain and an ex-Commodore. Tia chuckled, though the sound was almost ghostly in its cool disdain. "The cabin. Like old times." One of her guard looked as though he might protest vigorously, but she held up one slender palm. "Don't worry 'bout Tia." Tia spoke another brief line in her dialect, which seemed to reassure them, and they stood down. The two of them disappeared below deck; the clumping sound of Davy Jones' stride marking their place.

Jack wandered back to Norrington, who had already secreted heart and dagger back into his clothing. "Is that really a good idea, mate?"

"I'm not sure I can actually command Miss Dalma to do anything she does not want to," Norrington said mildly, "Bearing in mind, of course, my track record regarding bending to the wishes of the fairer sex." He frowned when Jack began ostensibly to sidle away. "Where are you going?"

"T'listen, of course," Jack flapped a hand at him impatiently. "Aren't you the faintest bit curious, man?"

"Eavesdropping is one of the worst forms of poor manners, Jack," Norrington said primly, though a faint, indulgent grin was pulling at his lips, as though he contemplated an adorable but unruly child. "Especially since this ship is now the property of Miss Dalma, and we are her guests."

"That's why I'd make doubly sure she don't see me," Jack said cheerily, and left. Or attempted to, as two of Tia's personal guard blocked his path. Burly natives dressed in a rather ceremonial knit of matching hunting cat skins, holding large spears.

"Tia say no one listen," a woman said from where she was arranging things on the makeshift 'throne', in broken English. "Pri-vate."

Jack was about to argue, but a hand clapped firmly on his shoulder, and he found himself being propelled to the helm back Norrington. "Bad manners, Jack." The other man seemed positively amused at the pirate's frustration.

"Maybe m'just worried 'bout 'er," Jack said innocently, attempting to look over the side of the ship, his mad brain contemplating some form of acrobatic climbing. The hand stayed put, warming his skin under the clothes.

"No."

"Y'say that too often t'me," Jack pouted, turning on his perceived tormentor. "An' ye've been right cruel t'me, ye have. Been so many days and t'aint nothin' but a few kisses. Enough t'drive a man off 'is rocker, it is."

Norrington sighed, his free hand pinching the bridge of his nose as if to stave off a headache, the other hand moving to rest on the wheel. "I think we've already discussed this."

"M'don't think ye can scandalize a group o' people who walk about in leaf knickers, mate," Jack muttered accusingly. "An', yer goin' off t'Port Royal after this, remember? An' ye don't want me t'follow, an' ye may not come back. So what's a man got t'do?"

"All right, Jack, all right," Norrington said wearily, "I give in, just so you won't be unbearable and nag me constantly for the rest of the time we have together. How long did it take Davy Jones the last time to, er, raise your _Pearl_ up from the depths?"

"Couple o' days. Mebbe more. M'was drunk fer most o' it in Tortuga. Bootstrap said t'was a couple o' days."

"And it took us a while to sail here from that island. So, even given the intervention of… magic, it may take time for the ship to arrive as promised."

Norrington leaned back against the helm, trailing long fingers down one of the protruding spokes in an extremely suggestive manner, and he smiled lazily. "And during that time, I will be at your _complete_…" a thumb circled the tip of the spoke, making Jack's mouth go dry, "…disposal." Almost as an afterthought, his Jamie murmured, "I do hope you know of some decent, discreet inns in that den of iniquity over yonder which can put up with us for the time being."

"M'sure we can find somethin' suitable," Jack purred, his eyes gleaming with renewed interest.

--

It seemed like hours before Tia and Davy Jones finally reemerged. The former flounced off back to her throne, speaking in low tones and in dialect to her attendants, the latter seemed somewhat resigned, lips pursed, not even snapping when intercepted by Norrington.

"'ow long?" Tentacles curled over each other as he seemed to think about it for a while. "Two days…a. Me crew an' I, we bring 'er to this very spot at sundown, in two days…a." An ugly laugh, as he glanced at Jack, but the notorious captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ was very obviously unable to muster the mood required to inject any manner of menace in his words, managing only to sound bitter. "She might not be too shipshape, Jack Sparrow, but she'd float, m'sure."

Jack growled, remembering how the Kraken had so severely damaged his beloved ship, but before he could come up with a suitably cutting reply, Davy Jones vanished. Fury warred with worry as he thought about his _Pearl_, but at least she seemed confident – joyful, even, in anticipation. At least she missed him as much as he did her. That thought was reassuring. Allowed him to think of other matters, in fact.

"Tia. Can I be 'avin' a loan o' sorts, right now?" he asked, flashing a wheedling grin.

Tia snorted, the faraway gleam in her eyes disappearing briefly. "Jack Sparrow, youse no be cheatin' Tia out of any more o' her coin than needs be. Ye got a small stash or two on this island that ye can use fer other things. The ship, Tia help. Tia stay here, wait for _Pearl_ with you, set up th'repair. That all she do for you."

"How'd ye know?" Jack blinked. It was true he had an emergency stash on Tortuga – most self-respecting pirates did, given how it was the unofficial base of operations for many ships – but he hadn't exactly counted Tia as one of those who would have known that fact. "All-seein' voodoo magic?"

"Youse talk in yer sleep when youse 'ad too much rum," Tia said maliciously, and winked at Norrington, who laughed.

--

"And what's this stash of yours like? A mountain of jewels? A king's ransom?" Norrington asked facetiously as they walked through the thinning jungle in the direction of Tortuga. They were accompanied by a few silent members of her guard, and the translator-woman, sent on errands.

"Tis a secret, Jamie-luv, an' ye'd best be promisin' ye'd forget 'bout it when yer Commodore again, or m'not lettin' ye see it, savvy?"

"My lips are sealed," Norrington said, an almost boyish excitement in his voice. Enough pirate in the proud ex-Navy officer, then, to be obsessed with treasure. Pity the 'stash' was actually rather mundane.

Tortuga in the late afternoon was a sleepy town, almost orderly. Merchants delivered goods from laden carts pulled by snorting drays, and the port's nominal cleaners made some effort to clean up the filth from the previous night's festivities, managing only to scratch the tip of the proverbial iceberg. The sun beat down on last night's victims of drink, who murmured in their sleep or hawked miserably in the foul alleys. Some rather shady looking characters conducted conversations under shop awnings in low voices, shooting them suspicious glances when they walked by. Jack took a firm grip on Norrington's arm when the other man's eyes narrowed in recognition at some faces.

"Yer 'ere at m'disposition, Jamie?"

"Yes, Jack," Absently, then another soft hiss, "Is that Rayle 'Sea Fox' Taylor? I thought he'd left for the South China seas! And that's…"

"Aye, love, aye," Jack patted his arm as he steered Norrington away from the more open parts of the dirty streets. "S'all pirates 'ere, come back from for'n parts t'Jamaica. Since ye've been gone from Port Royal." It rather surprised him that with so many men here that would have given an arm or a leg to kill the man currently at his side, Norrington had actually managed to survive in Tortuga long enough to be picked up by his crew.

"Really?" Norrington blinked. "You mean my reputation…"

"Keep it down, mate," Jack murmured hastily. "We ain't here fer trouble."

"You mean that after I resigned my commission all these pirates returned to Jamaica?" Norrington lowered his voice. "And so quickly?"

"Many o' us keep tabs on threats to us in our territory, Jamie-luv, 'specially the older 'uns. Ye probably couldn'a sneeze wi'out us findin' out." Jack smiled at Norrington's consternation, and then sobered quickly. This would probably only strengthen his Jamie's determination to return to Commodoring… permanently.

He was right. Norrington grit his teeth, and muttered a curse. "I should never have left."

"Actually, mate," Jack said, pulling them down another street, looking at the signs as he did so, "Might want t'rest yer fears on that. Beckett's set up shop in Port Royal, it seems. That's bad news fer pirates. Might be tha' all o' them there are just 'ere to settle some final debts, pick up their losses, an' leave fer good." The pirate smirked. "What we've got t'fear from ye? All men come t' an' end, and there's nowt an' old pirate who 'asn't thought o' th'noose as th'end of his career. Inevitable end. Execution fer ye, s'a clean death. Beckett, on th'other 'and… there's some things a man don't want t'go through before he meets 'is Maker."

"That's not very flattering," Norrington said dryly, though he seemed to have calmed down. "You're now telling me that I apparently don't have such a fearsome reputation against pirates as I'd thought…"

"And who's this friend of yers, Jack Sparrow?" a burly man loomed over them from where he had been lounging against a public well. Jack groaned inwardly. Almost a giant of a man, with a bristling red beard and beady little eyes, scarred cheeks and chipped ears nearly hidden by a large black hat, Captain Taver Halsh cut a picture that had been enough to frighten many a redcoat. Beefy fingers rested on the hilts of ornate pistols. "'e looks right familiar, he does."

Jack looked around quickly, but Taver's bloodthirsty crew seemed to be nowhere around. It looked like the Captain had merely been out for the mundane business of sorting out resupply costs. "T'aint nobody ye know. An' it's _Captain_ Sparrow t'ye, Taver Halsh." Under his arm, Norrington tensed at the mention of the other man's name.

"T'aint Captain no more, is it, Sparrow?" Halsh smiled cruelly. "'eard about yer run in wi' the _Flying Dutchman_. Word travels fast, 'round 'ere."

"That's fer me to sort out, an' ye to find out later," Jack replied coolly, trying to pull Norrington around the big man, but Halsh stepped sideways to block their path.

"'Cos I couldn'a 'elp but listen t'some of yer yammerin', an' it seems that yer pretty friend 'ere could be somebody of our mutual… acquaintance. Late o' Port Royal, an' down on 'is luck. Could be he remembers sinkin' a ship out a ways from Kingston, years back." Small eyes stared at Norrington, who held his gaze with a glacial stare of his own.

Before Norrington could say anything about that, though, Jack held up a hand. "Suppose I prove he _isn't_ ex-Commodore James Norrington, then?"

"I've got a sovereign that says ye can't, ye traitorous Navy-lovin' dog," Halsh growled. "I got things t'settle wi' the Hunter."

"All right. Watch closely." Jack grabbed the collar of Norrington's coat, and yanked the man down roughly into a bruising kiss, forcing his tongue into his mouth. Fingers slipped under his coat and pinched Norrington on the side, warning him to play along. After a moment's hesitation, he did so, growling and kissing Jack in return with only slightly restrained ardor. So, doing things in the earshot of barely clad natives was not okay, but public displays of affection in front of rather shocked looking giant pirates, was fine. His Jamie was proving to be a delightful tangle of contradictions. That he fully intended to spend two days unraveling.

He pulled away reluctantly at the end, trying to slow his heavy breathing, though leaving his arm possessively around Norrington's waist, and half-turned to grin wickedly at Halsh. "Now, d'ye think the real James Norrington would 'ave let me do that to him? Right 'ere an' now?"

"But… 'e even sounds like him," Halsh said incredulously.

"Actor, mate. Good actor. Amazing likeness, too, wi' makeup on." Jack smirked. "Now, ye'd be keepin' this t'yerself, eh, Cap'n Halsh? T'aint no man like others t'know 'ow 'e likes t'play when th'inclination gets him, if ye understand me."

Halsh surprised Jack by roaring with laughter, pushing a sovereign into his hands, shaking his head ruefully. "Yer a terrible man, Sparrow, an' madder than I'd thought, t'pull a stunt like this. I've got a right mind t'find the real 'un and tell 'im what ye've done."

"Right, right," Jack patted Norrington's arm. "Now, me friend 'Norrington' 'ere an' I 'ave some… unfinished things t'settle, preferably in private, so we'd be goin' along now." That elicited another deep rumble of mirth from the other pirate Captain.

When they were out of earshot of the big man, Jack glanced up worriedly at Norrington as the other man shook slightly under his grip, and then relaxed when he realized it was silent laughter. The wicked streak in the man had enjoyed that little charade, then. "I'm not sure if I should be scandalized, or… or insulted, Jack. I do believe you just implied, in public, in Tortuga, that I was some sort of whore in an elaborate bedroom game."

"Ye just be relieved that Halsh may be a dead shot with them pistols, but he ain't that good with thinkin'," Jack wanted to lecture, but found himself smirking, proud of his own cleverness. His ego was all but patting itself on the back. "And ye be careful now, ye might get all sorts o' callers if th'word gets out."

Norrington chuckled, then leaned down briefly to flick his tongue at Jack's ear and breathe, "I'm only interested in one of them."

Concentrate. Need money. Jack stomped down on the urge to push Norrington against the nearest wall and make him prove just _how_ interested he was. And stopped short against a small, disreputable shop at the end of the street. Just in time.

--

The large cowbell attached to the door clonked noisily as Jack pushed the door open – and it promptly stuck. With a muttered oath, he managed to squeeze in, but it took some pushing and pulling before it opened enough for Norrington. The dusty shop seemed to purportedly sell tea (too suspicious for a pirate town, Jack had told its owner time and again), stored in tin containers and carefully labeled, on shelves that lined the walls. There was a display table in the center of rickety wood, on which were a few cracked bowls that held fragrant, dry tea leaves from a dozen different types that wreathed the room in an exotic, complex scent. A few decaying daffodils and daisies, arranged haphazardly between the bowls, were the only attempts at decoration.

At the counter, a rail-thin man with a lugubrious expression stared up at them with drooping eyes, pulling absently at his white, forked beard. Even in the musty light from dull windows, his skin hue and slanted black eyes marked him as a native of Cathay. "Captain Sparrow." A brief, questioning glance at Norrington, eyes narrowing into slits thoughtfully. "Mister Norrington."

"Actually, Lee, 'e's just a…"

The old man shook his head mournfully. "Do you think I am growing senile, Captain Sparrow? I am far from the Middle Kingdom, and so I while my time in the wilds collecting information." A flash of yellowing teeth. "Which, of course, is also my business, secondary to tea." He reached beneath the counter for a moment, then passed Jack a yellowing scroll, which unrolled to show a very accurate pencil sketch of Norrington – one sketch with him in full Commodore regalia, and the other in civilian clothing. Jack heard the other man gasp behind him. "But not to worry. I owe you debt for services rendered regarding jade unicorn. I have not told, and will not."

Jack reluctantly surrendered the scroll when Lee held out a wrinkled hand for it. "So, Captain Sparrow. Are you here to buy or sell tea?"

"I'd find meself in the need fer a couple o' pounds o' fine Ceylon," Sparrow said, inspecting his nails, ignoring Norrington's puzzled frown.

Lee nodded, and got up from his seat with the unhurried grace of the elderly. "I will see to my stock at once." He took a bunch of keys from his robe, and unlocked the door behind him, disappearing down the stairs beyond.

"What's this about, Jack?" Norrington asked finally, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Exactly what it looks like," Jack said innocently. "We are buying tea."

"And I'm a mermaid," Norrington drawled. "I thought we were going to look at your… stash of ill-gotten gains."

"I could check for tails," Jack waggled his eyebrows in a leer, ignoring the latter statement. "Later."

Lee chose that opportune moment to reappear, interrupting Norrington's sharp retort, locking the door behind him, his hands holding a small tin, which he passed to Jack over the counter. "Thanks, mate," Jack slipped it into his coat.

Lee inclined his head. "I am glad to see that the reports of your death are unfounded again, Captain Sparrow. Do come again."

--

Outside, Jack led them in his weaving walk down another street. At Norrington's soft growl, showing a fraying patience, he took the tin out from his coat, and opened it for the other man's inspection. Inside, cushioned tightly on cheap cloth so they wouldn't rattle, were some fine specimens of the coin of the Realm. To be safe, Jack immediately made the tin disappear again into his clothing. "Happy now?"

"A pirate's bank, disguised as a tea shop?" Norrington murmured, "Ingenious. But I don't understand how it is workable. Has nobody attempted to rob it?"

"He don't just do business wi' every'un – only wi' select clients, savvy? An', Lee employs some right vicious guards, 'e does," Jack said, shuddering slightly at the memory of seeing their work once, dumped in an alley. He'd had to get drunk for _days_. "They were present all th'while when we were doin' business."

"I didn't see anybody else."

"'Cos they don't want t'be seen, ye ken," Jack replied, impatient with the topic and with Norrington's curiosity. It was one of the open secrets of Tortuga, but only discussed in public by the foolish, seeing as how a pirate bank could easily come under the interest of the Navy. "And ye better be keepin' to yer word 'bout not spillin' it t'yer highers up, an' all, in Port Royal."

"I gave you my word earlier," Norrington reminded Jack, allowing himself to be pulled into an inn, chuckling a little wryly at the sign. "The Dancing Rooster. How appropriate."

The stout innkeeper nodded at Jack from where he was polishing tankards at the counter, politeness accorded to a regular, and Jack sidled over to slip a couple of coins over, which were quickly pocketed. "One of yer better rooms, fer two days. An' I don't want word getting out 'bout me bein' 'ere, savvy?" Another coin across the counter. The man nodded again, not even glancing at Norrington, passing Jack a numbered key.

The Rooster was more of an inn than a tavern, attracting men who would rather drink in silence and in peace from the barfights and brawls that plagued most of the other drinking holes in Tortuga. Not really Jack's type of place, but it also supplied a quiet, and more importantly, discreet place to sleep whenever the fancy took him to entertain, or just rest without having to worry about vermin. The place was plainly furnished, with stone walls and fresh rushes on the ground. Tables and chairs had been stacked in the corner, the place not being open for drinks as yet.

Jack all but dragged Norrington up the narrow stairs and down the balcony-corridor, and then into the allocated room. Locking the door behind them, he turned with a flourish to face his prize, and drawled, "Now, we'd be contemplatin', methinks, all manner o' meanings o' th'phrase 'at yer _complete_ disposal', James Norrington."

Norrington looked abruptly worried, as it dawned on him that two days could in fact be a long, _long _time to be at the mercy of single-minded and inventive pirate captains.


	7. Twenty six Answers

Chapter 7

Twenty-six answers

Norrington was backing away in the small, square room, his hands held out in front of him, palms wide – placating, a silent plea for clemency that the pirate had obviously no intention of granting. "_Jack_, when I said that I meant..."

"M'hope ye aren't goin' back on yer word, Jamie-luv," Jack said innocently, sauntering closer, savoring the moment. He wanted to frame it in his mind permanently – the moment of having finally cornered his Jamie in a position where he could take his time forging a memory that would brand itself on the other man as starkly as the 'P' scar on his own arm. There wasn't much room to maneuver in the room – plain wooden furniture: a dresser, a small desk pushed to one corner, two chairs, and a bed with cheap, but clean sheets, next to a window overlooking the jungle, partially covered by a curtain. Currently, his prize was slowly inching into the corner between the dresser and the wall, looking delightfully panicked, previous experiences with the supernatural and undead pirates notwithstanding.

"No, I won't," Norrington said indignantly, at the very idea, or attempted to - that pretty face was too etched in worry for that. "But..." He gasped as Jack sidled into his personal space, one hand palm down on the dresser, the other on the wall against his side, his own long fingers lightly grasping Jack's hips. "But… two days?"

"Two days, Jamie-luv," Jack smirked, obviously enjoying the ex-Commodore's discomfort. "Of complete disposin', m'recall."

"Actually," Norrington's voice was almost a warble as his shoulders pressed into the wall, "I wanted to… to talk to you." Another gasp as Jack pushed one knee up on the dresser, his other foot on tiptoe, such that he had a height advantage as he melded his lithe body against the other man. Norrington, however, continued gamely on, "Since we haven't actually had the opportunity…"

"What'd ye want t'talk about, then?" Jack breathed into Norrington's ear, nipping it as he began to rub himself against the warm body, rough fabric hissing against each other, the buttons on Norrington's shirt catching briefly in torn cloth. He pushed his other thigh insistently against long legs until they parted, then chuckled at the low moan marked by a tremble between them as he felt swelling heat against it. "Yer childhood? Mine? Me crew? The separation o' state an' religion?"

"What?" Pretty green eyes were unfocused as Norrington bucked a little against the pressure, and then chocolate brown tresses flickered against the tanning face as he shook his head quickly to clear his thoughts, but only managed to focus on the first suggestion. "Childhood. Yours." Spoken from behind gritted teeth, as Jack unbuttoned his shirt with practiced fingers, his tongue busy on the unmarked neck, teasing, tasting.

"Best ye be doin' th'speakin', mate," Jack laughed breathlessly as he drew back for a moment to push both shirt and coat off broad shoulders, letting it pool carelessly on the ground. "M' goin' t'be _busy_." He emphasized this by running a tongue from one muscled shoulder to the collar, tasting the salt and smoky spice that was so very Norrington, then gently bit down on taut flesh, making the other man flinch and mutter an oath. Jack held on to one shoulder with a hand, the other toying with the hem of Norrington's breeches.

big cut

--

"I'm actually curious, really," Norrington murmured some time later (much later) into the back of Jack's neck, spooned up behind him as they rested.

"O' what?" Jack yawned. Sated for the night, and planning the next day's method of attack. The sheets were half pulled up their waists, stained with exertion. Stacked plates at the door – Norrington had insisted they stop the 'shameless debauchery' for dinner, lest they collapse from hunger, and to Jack's amusement had absolutely refused to do anything regarding the other sort of hunger and the food provided. Had, in fact, lectured him briefly on common propriety, despite looking so delightfully rumpled (and shamelessly debauched).

"Your childhood, Jack. Everything about you. I want to know." Norrington was rubbing his abdomen, lulling him to sleep as he would a cat. "Where you grew up. Who your parents were."

"That 'ardly defines a man, Jamie-luv," Jack replied, pouting slightly, wondering what exactly it was that made people so curious about himself. "Why not ye get some sleep? Ye might need it tomorrow."

"I suppose you're right." A pause in the petting, then at the rumbled growl of protest, the fingers continued their stroking. "But I'd still like to know."

"Well, if ye believe th'word on th'street, me ma was a Spanish Princess, an' me da' a Prince of Araby, an', y'see, they went an' 'ad me on th'back o' an elephant, on' a royal 'untin' trip in Africa," Jack replied, smirking into the sheets as he felt Norrington let out a sigh that ruffled his hair.

"I don't believe that."

"An' yer right not to, 'tis all fancy fabricatin'. Y'see, t'aint an elephant, but t'was a camel."

Norrington groaned, exasperated. "_Why_ did I even bother to ask?"

"Why indeed?" Jack snickered. "But ye 'ave th'dubious honor o' addressin' an illegitimate Prince o' Spain an' Araby. Right rock Windsor Castle, it will, if old Jack's found out. Ye can call me 'yer Highness' in private."

A wordless grumble, then a reproachful nip at the back of his neck. "What will it take to get the truth from you?"

"M'don't see why it's so important, Jamie-luv," Jack poked one of the arms encircling him. "Ye don't see me askin' about yer personal life."

"You're not curious?"

"Y'see, Jamie-luv, th'difference between us, ye asks fer things, and m'steals things. So ye be askin' Jack th'manner and the 'ow of his birth, but he already be knowin' th'manner and 'ow o' yers, what wi' yer Navy keepin' such scrupulous records, an' all." Another satisfied smirk. "Though m'curious 'ow the second son o' one o' th'pillars o' the East India Company chose t' enter t'Navy, 'stead o' followin' in his father's an' brother's footsteps, an' in such a far off post as Port Royal."

There was a stunned silence, then a wry chuckle. "Far enough for my name to mean nothing, compared to rank and skill, Jack."

"An' likely as anythin' ye didn't like tradin', ye liked blowin' ships up an' crossin' swords fer yer life wi' pirates and scallywags."

"Protecting others instead of filling my own coffers, yes," Norrington corrected dryly. "Trafficking in human lives, profiting at the expense of smaller traders, introducing diseases to natives, no."

"M'like me version better," Jack informed him, "'Cos this 'protectin' others' an' all th'talk o' duty, must make ye pretty lonely at night, mate."

Tension, then it seemed to flow out with another wry chuckle. "And you're suggesting that shooting holes in other ships and hanging pirates doesn't?"

"'leastways it _sounds _more interestin'."

A snort, then, as Jack knew Norrington would, another question. "How did you steal that information?"

"Sometimes m'likes t'waylay ships that m'knows holds all manner o' dispatches an' interestin' papers," Jack decided it didn't really matter if he told some of the truth. "'Tis a smart pirate who gets it in 'is business t'know, fer example, th'rising price o' coffee in th' East Indies. T'aint good t'call attention just robbin' any old merchant ship ye see on th'water, an' booty 'as t'be sold. An' o'course, sometimes these ships 'ave interestin' papers about th'famed Pirate Hunter. Makes fer good readin'."

A started laugh. "Jack Sparrow. Each time I think you can't do it any longer, you surprise me even more."

"One 'as t'occupy oneself somehow when not bein' chased by pretty Commodores, love."

"You still haven't answered my questions." Another nip. As stubborn as a bulldog, was his Jamie.

"M'not goin' to. So there. But t'make up fer it… did ye ever 'ear 'bout th'time I got meself into a pinch over in…"

"It's probably something mundane. Your childhood." Jack half-turned to see the faint outline of a smirk, limed in lamplight from the streets, where the revelry was in full swing. "That's why you don't want to tell me. Perhaps your father was a fisherman and your mother was a washerwoman, with you one of a large horde of unwashed children, and you left for the sea by pure accident. Fell into a crate and got stowed aboard, perhaps. It wouldn't do for the past of the likes of the great Captain Jack Sparrow."

Norrington was closer to the truth than he'd thought, but Jack elected not to tell him, instead grinning impishly as he ran fingers lightly up an arm. "M'wouldn't know. Mebbe the life o' a washerwoman is full o' high 'jinks an' adventure."

"However I'd discount that as unlikely, having seen how you sign your name and how you can read, know and pronounce difficult words. And those long, rambling sentences you use to try and throw people off your point are too complicated linguistically for someone who spent their childhood uneducated."

"M'could 'ave been self-educated, Jamie-luv," Jack suggested playfully, fascinated despite himself at the analysis. "Could be I picked up all th'high falutin' words from Barbossa, who left fer a life o' piratin' an educated man, an' him bein' me first mate fer many a year."

"Elizabeth also informed me that while drunk on the island with her and, apparently, while teaching each other all manner of drinking songs, you made references to sirens, beeswax and Odysseus."

"Ye asked 'er 'bout me?"

"Yes. As did her father. As did young Mr. Turner, and likely every socialite on Port Royal." A deep sigh. "You happen to be somewhat of a celebrity in these parts." A pause. "Do restrain your ego."

Jack was actually more interested in the admission that Norrington _had_ in fact asked about him. He wondered how, and when – things has likely been complicated back in Port Royal, what with the breaking off of his engagement and the following announcement of Elizabeth and William's. Jack remembered, slightly guiltily, having received word of it when docking in Tortuga for resupply, and even a slightly battered gold-edged RSVP to the engagement party. He'd fully intended to go along, or at least send a present, but then he and his _Pearl_ had stumbled on the _Dauntless_ in open water, all by her ownsies, and he'd promptly forgotten about it afterwards, what with forcing a playful chase that turned serious, the hurricane and the later business with Anamaria, then Davy Jones.

Serving himself. Taking the _Dauntless_ out on a jaunt, perhaps with some hastily tacked-on official excuse, instead of attending the engagement party of the woman he'd loved and reliving the moments of heartache, the humiliation of having to congratulate her on her upcoming marriage with Turner, the man he'd been manipulated into saving. Then engaging in some pirate hunting that had gone too far. Yes, that sounded about right. Even his _Pearl_ seemed to feel slightly guilty about their involvement (which was – firing on the _Dauntless_, but purposefully making sure the shots fell short, then allowing it to give chase, but not flying at her best speed over the waves to cut it too short, both captain and ship laughing, wild and madcap in their freedom, up until stormy clouds heralded disaster for any ship slower than his _Pearl_. But he'd been so sure that Norrington would turn back – such that he hadn't even gone back after the sea had vented its fury to check. It seemed heartache over Elizabeth had once again caused an irrational decision.).

"You're quiet again," Norrington poked him in the side.

"M'sleepy," Jack said petulantly, provoking a quiet laugh.

"All right, Jack." Arms settled him more comfortably against the warm chest, breathing slowed, and Jack was left to his thoughts.

--

Jack found that Norrington was slightly ticklish, especially around his hips, and the flick of a wet tongue on inner thighs would make him writhe and curse most prettily.

Norrington was amused to realize that Jack liked it rough, gentle, on his back, on his knees, on top, on his side, any way the other man wished to try their play, it didn't appear to matter, wanton, unashamed, unfettered. Free.

Jack saw that Norrington had limits – nothing to do with toes, nothing to do with tongues anywhere near his rump. Any attempts and there'd be a rough, warning growl, and Jack would be pinned, on his back, and scolded in a voice husky from sex. After the third time, the man had simply run out of words. _No, just no_.

Norrington wondered how old Jack was, and had been treated with a characteristically enigmatic and convoluted answer – _older than ye t'knows more, younger than ye wot 'as fun more_. Further attempts at persuasion, and even disclosing his own age, had been met with a smirk and a terribly distracting roll of slighter hips against his own.

Jack was pleasantly surprised as it dawned on him that 'complete disposal' and Norrington's given word were not figures of speech after all, despite the other man's muttered protestations as the day drew on that _normal_ people should have nigh collapsed from exhaustion by now.

Norrington noticed a definite tremble in his arms as he held himself on his elbows above a writhing, keening pirate who either seemed to have untold stores of energy or was taking a loan from his future self. The same thing, admittedly. Or perhaps not. His mind quit considering the issue when muscles clenched beneath him.

Jack managed to maneuver Norrington up against a bedpost and tie fine-boned wrists to it with the tasseled rope that held back the curtain, shuttering out the sun. A smirk at the worried expression, as he proceeded to absolutely undo the other man, tongues, teeth, fingers.

Norrington was sure the apprehension was written all over his features as oiled fingers probed him, gentle, reassuring words he could not catch murmured into his ear, a hand stroking his side to soothe him. He tugged at his bindings and tried to speak, and then a cry was torn from his raw throat as nimble fingers found a certain spot within him. Jack laughed.

Jack wasn't sure that Norrington would have agreed to being fucked if he hadn't been tied up (even with all those pretty words about disposin'), but he was glad he had thought of doing it. He tried to decide what he liked more, the sucking heat, the broken, pleading whimpers, or the tremor and helpless, uncontrollable bucking.

Norrington found himself unable to speak after completion, unable even to hide the stunned look on his face with his habitual smirk, unable to object to Jack's entirely self-satisfied grin. And then unable to make his mind process the sight of fingers swiped through his essence and lazily licked clean.

Jack had only just untied Norrington when he was pinned on his front, and the tasseled rope used to bind his wrists with a seaman's knots. He'd been expecting that, even encouraging it, which was why he'd let the dusty ends dangle so temptingly in front of Norrington's nose, but he still gave the semblance of struggle when teeth nipped at the soft underside of his elbow.

Norrington found himself mildly appalled at Jack's salacious suggestions, as he mapped the pirate's back with lips and tongue. He'd merely laughed; wincing as it hurt his throat, which had made Jack pout most prettily. Already beyond tired, it seemed natural to do it slow, tender. Making love.

Jack had withstood about a minute of butterfly kisses over his shoulders and the careful thrusts before demanding that Norrington release his hands. He wasn't obliged, and his begging was summarily dismissed. The heartbreaking tenderness was too much to handle, and he sank teeth into the pillows, muffling his moans.

Norrington knew he didn't have much left to give, if at all, when afterward he undid the knots, his fingers slipping as they shook with weariness. Slumped on the bed, he was surprised Jack was silent, and pulled him close, nuzzling sweat-soaked hair, questioning.

Jack was thinking again, a most damnable thing to be doing when there wasn't much time left, but he was tired, so tired, of not having what he wanted. A half turn, and there were kisses, swollen lips.

Norrington was grateful that kissing was all Jack was content on doing at the moment, unsure that he was able to do much else. His mind filtered in the few sounds of Tortuga in its sleepy hours, and he wished vaguely that he didn't have to leave in a day. There was too much Jack.

Jack wanted to speak but his throat threatened to mutiny, and he lay back instead, memorizing Norrington's half-curled frame with kohl-rimmed eyes slightly glassy from weariness. A joke now, about Navy officers and repression, would have been so Sparrow, but it wouldn't have been much Jack.

Norrington finally pulled himself to Jack, who rolled on his back, allowing the taller man to pillow his head on a nut-brown chest, take in the scars and the row of ribs with half-lidded eyes, and wish that he could give this man a better life and still make him happy.

Jack listened as his _Pearl_ abruptly sang to him, that she was coming for him. Perhaps just yesterday morning he would have immediately run back to sea to wait for his love. Now he simply felt tired. Joyful, but tired. No, not even fully joyful, there was sadness there. He hoped she understood – she did.

Norrington was watching Jack's face, took in the faraway, absent-minded unfocused expression, the soft half-smile, and knew that he was somehow, unbelievably, communicating with his ship. Time was almost up. He was glad now that he had given himself, given them, two days. Even if he'd ultimately lost to a pirate galleon. Too tired to be bitter.

Jack found himself in the unenviable position of being scolded by his _Pearl_ as well as trying to kiss a suddenly uncooperative Norrington under her behest. Tickles, pleas, pokes and pouts hadn't worked. His _Pearl_ was deeply unimpressed, but he refused to accept suggestions from a ship.

Norrington decided, finally, that there was really no point in closing this chapter of his life on a sour note, and relented. Jack's relief soothed his pride, somewhat, and he noticed that the pirate was careful to hide his expression whenever his mind wasn't focused on his lover. Lovers. But not partners. He'd been the one to suggest they had better be getting back to Tia.

Jack managed to hide how grateful he was for that suggestion, having been unable to come up with a way to put it forward gently without making it seem as though he was indeed absolutely obsessed with his _Pearl_. It merited an 'obsessed', but not an 'absolutely', in his opinion.

The innkeeper was greatly relieved to see the backs of the two men, all but staggering out into the street. They'd made enough noise to wake the dead, and business hadn't been picking up. He made a mental note to charge Jack Sparrow double the next time he brought lovers to the Dancing Rooster, and wondered which maid would have to have the bad luck of cleaning up after them.

Jack and Norrington had only just managed to walk out onto the main street, before a lady of the night, dressed for shopping, had marched up to Jack, demanded to know who Norrington was, slapped the pirate before he could answer, and flounced off.

Norrington laughed. It had only seemed fitting.


	8. Goodbyes

Chapter 8

Good-byes

"I do believe I'm paralyzed," Norrington lowered himself painfully down on the stair towards the helm and sprawled against the rail, closing his eyes as the afternoon sun encroached on the evening. Jack had to fight a grin at the wheel – his Jamie's voice was almost a whisper, hoarse from their exertions, and his long frame almost shook with weariness. One had to admire his determination to keep his word and… ha, stamina, in the face of the fact that thorough debauchery was an activity that Norrington had obviously never engaged in.

The ship _Tia_ shifted with a wave, and Jack automatically moved with it in balance, then winced himself as his body reminded him sulkily that he wasn't exactly used to it either lately, what with all that running around the high seas. It also informed him that he was about to regret this for a very, _very_ long time indeed, but at that point the brain told his body to shut its trap, as t'was all worth it. A slow, sated smirk stole across Jack's face as he recalled exactly why that was so.

"Can you at least _try_ to look less self-satisfied, Jack?" Another hoarse mutter from the prone form on the steps, eyes shaded now against the sun.

"T'aint Jack Sparrow who was goin' on 'bout 'complete disposal', Jamie-luv," Jack said innocently, looking out at the faraway horizon, waiting for the ghostly ship of Davy Jones with its monstrous crew.

"You know I only said that to make you stop badgering me constantly. I didn't think you'd actually take me up on it," Norrington said, showing a strong tendency towards self-pity that Jack had first noticed in the tavern where Gibbs had been recruiting unsuspecting souls for Davy Jones. He was reminded how his Jamie's self-pity tended to be accompanied by unfettered violence (perhaps a character flaw there), but was reassured at the moment. Norrington didn't look as though he could get back up to his feet, let alone throw a punch. "Good God. I'm sore in places I didn't even know could be sore."

"Ye learn new things every day, mate," Jack grinned impishly, his eyes drifting over to Tia, who was ignoring them, looking over the side at the waves, and occasionally at the position of the sun. There was an answering, low growl from his Jamie, who then gave it up as a bad job and settled down to sleep, rocked by the waves. Jack also felt exhausted, but was holding himself back from grateful collapse by dint of sheer force of will. He didn't want to miss the first sight of his _Pearl._

_Close_, she had been singing to him, for the past couple of hours. _Close, close_. Likely nothing else could have dug him out of that inn, actually, with Norrington all to himself and possibly for the last time (not if he had anything to do with it, but one always had to consider the odds). Jack uttered a thankful prayer to whatever deity may have been listening for discreet inns and room service.

Lost in his thoughts, he yelped when Tia seemed to abruptly materialize at his shoulder. She shook her head at him in amusement, dreadlocks swinging, then sobered. "Tia be leavin' when yer ship docks at Tortuga, Jack. She hopes youse can stay out o'trouble. Some people be comin' in th'night t'help you get there."

Jack rested his forehead against one of the spokes of the wheel, tearing his eyes from the horizon for a moment. "Thank ye, Tia. Fer everythin'."

"T'aint all o' it Tia's doin'," she smiled at him, yellowing teeth flashing as she inclined her head towards the sleeping form on the stairs. "But some of th'bad, that was Tia's doin'. She should never 'ave taught woman's magic to white man. He turn it into bad magic, an' he cause you much pain."

"No, Tia," Jack replied, slowly, affectionately. "Davy Jones introduced me to m'_Pearl_, and even if that be only fer two years an' a wee bit, t'was worth all th'pain that th'world can throw at old Jack."

"Tia afraid he may cause you worse yet." Another glance at Norrington, who had muttered something in his sleep and shifted a little in the sun. "You be careful now." A faint smile. "Boy."

A wry chuckle. "Ye 'aven't called me that fer over ten years."

"An' ye 'aven't learned t' be careful," she retorted. "What ye be doin' now?" _He's leaving you_, her eyes said.

_I know._ Jack sighed, "I can't leave m'_Pearl_ here on her ownsies while she's fixed. An' ye said Anamaria needs me help over in Kingston. M'going t'get a crew, pick up me first mate, an' then 'ead straight to Port Royal… or wherever 'e may be."

"Tia knows that part, Jack," Tia said impatiently, "That be the easy part. Tia means, _afterward_."

"M'suppose I'd use me considerable charm t'persuade Jamie t'follow me on an adventure on th'high seas, t'ward the World's End," Jack said, dramatically waving his hand at the horizon. "Even 'as a nice ring to it. An' there could even be treasure o' th'shiny sort, an' th'darin' rescuin' o' pretty damsels in distress."

The voodoo witch laughed merrily as Jack illustrated his words with extravagant and incomprehensible flutters of ringed hands. "Be wishin' you luck then, Jack Sparrow." An enigmatic wink. "Ye'd need it."

--

The ragged sails of the _Flying Dutchman_ came into sight just as the sinking sun painted the sky blood red with dying rays, showing that Davy Jones (rather like Tia) had an overdeveloped sense of the dramatic. Behind the submersible ship was his love. A black ship whose majesty was only rivaled by her sheer beauty – black sails may be torn, the structural damage done by the Kraken obvious even from a distance, and she listed a little to the side, limping behind the _Flying Dutchman_, but she was glorious, and she knew it.

The _Black Pearl_. His. And she took his breath away.

_Mine_, she informed him, playfully, lovingly, when he was close enough to see the scabrous, mussel-encrusted skeleton crew steering her behind the _Flying Dutchman_. _Mine again_.

"Aye, missy. Always," he murmured, not caring that Norrington, having roused himself reluctantly upon the excited shouts of Tia's attendants at the sight, was looking at him strangely.

Davy Jones yelled across at them from the _Flying Dutchman_, directed at Norrington, "Does this meet yer terms, then, sir?"

"It'd be a good time now t'bring you and your crew to the location we agreed, until further instructions," Norrington called back, grimacing as the hoarseness in his voice was still evident. Thankfully, Davy Jones either chose not to comment or didn't notice the difference. The captain seemed to have eyes only for Tia, who was pointedly ignoring him, looking instead with pity at the battered black ship. Finally, he turned on his heel in disgust, barking orders to set sail. The few of his crewmen on the black ship leaped agilely back after weighing anchor.

Jack abruptly heard Tia gasp, and he followed her gaze sharply. Bootstrap Bill Turner, his face lined and old before his time, still undergoing the slow change from something still human-like to a monster like the rest of the crew, was smiling at her, in wry affection. He raised a sand-crusted hand in a wave at the both of them, and then his lips moved.

"'Take care of me son'," Tia murmured, somehow able to hear the words despite the distance, watching as the _Flying Dutchman_ headed out to deeper waters and submerged, smooth as a dolphin cutting the waves. "If youse only knew. Yer son 'as set his mind on takin' care o'you, and Tia can help him no more."

"Who was that?" Norrington asked curiously, a little sharply (jealousy and its ugly head), at the glance Tia and Jack shared – of sorrow, understanding, and loss.

"That, Jamie-luv, is… was… Bootstrap Bill Turner, late of England, born William Turner," Jack said quietly, as Norrington's eyes widened as it dawned on the other man what that meant. "T'was a member of me crew, an' he made th'cardinal mistake o' objectin' to Barbossa maroonin' me on a desert island. An' they tied him to a cannon, an' dropped him into th'sea. After the Aztec curse 'ad already taken hold. Though m'tend t'believe they didn't know that at th'time and so didn't intend t'be condemning him to eternity tied to a cannon on the sea floor, or they wouldn'a 'ave gone through all that business over the kidnappin' an' all."

Norrington shuddered delicately at the thought of being stranded, unable to die, in the depths of the sea. "Pirates."

"Not t'mention t'was a waste o' a perfectly good cannon," Jack said absently, looking over his ship with a practiced eye. "Th'replacement pulls somethin' terrible to the right." He laughed playfully at Norrington's expression of mixed outrage, horror and resignation at his apparent callousness. "M'only jokin', mate. Now… James Norrington. Th'_Pearl_ an' I are extendin' t'ye a formal invitation t'come aboard on inspection."

"Accepted, Captain Sparrow," Norrington said with the same mock formality, though his green eyes seemed cloudy, troubled. Jealous.

--

Jack was the first aboard his _Pearl_, managing to scramble, surefooted, up the anchor chain and then maneuver himself up into one of the gaping holes in the side of his ship. He let out a low moan as he surveyed the damage. At least the bodies seemed to have washed away, and most of the loose debris, but seaweed and dying creatures trapped in the _Pearl_ when she had been salvaged still lay draped over overturned cannons and the slippery deck. The stench of death still clung to the ship. The cooling night breeze wafted through ravaged gaps left by giant tentacles, and Jack could see the scored marks of suckers against the broken stair and the gunwale. A muttered oath behind him and the sound of boots on the deck informed him that Norrington had managed to climb up the same way he had, his earlier exhaustion apparently behind him for the moment.

"Ah, missy," Jack sighed. "M'so sorry."

The _Black Pearl_ only laughed at him. _Mine again,_ she sang, as he checked the hull briefly, and strode up onto the deck, leaving Norrington to his own devices. The masts at least seemed intact, but the sails and rigging were bedraggled and ripped. More gaping holes in the rails, and part of the deck itself was splintered. Jack, however, found himself drawn to the helm, and the _Pearl_ hummed under his fingers as he took the wheel, patting it gently, his eyes half-lidded in contentment. His _Pearl_.

"It looks worse than it is," Norrington said, causing him to jerk out of his reverie. The other man stood next to the main mast, fingering a very familiar shackle with a baffled frown, then seemed to leave it alone as one of the ship's mysteries. "The keel is intact, and the structural damage can be repaired." He squinted up at the sails, then at the ruined rail. "But you'd be in Tortuga for a while."

"I knows that," Jack replied, more sharply than he'd intended, and quickly softened his voice before Norrington took offence. "She told me as much, 'bout an hour before she was brought here."

"And it looks like help is on its way," Norrington raised an eyebrow at the explanation but seemed to accept it for the time being, gesturing instead off the side. Tia was accompanying a sloop, packed full of silent men who were surveying the damage professionally and muttering to themselves. Ropes were slung up to deck, which Norrington secured on the remains of the rail – Jack refused to move from the helm. He didn't even appear to notice as the men wandered the ship, checking it cursorily, or Tia return with the sloop to the 'stolen' craft.

Norrington spoke with some of the shipbuilders for a moment, and then went up to the bridge as the last of them disappeared below deck. "Jack."

"Mm?" Jack pulled his unfocused gaze up from the wheel.

"You should set sail, before it gets too dark."

"I knows th'layabout o' Tortuga like th'back o' me hand, Jamie-luv, not t'worry," Jack assured him absently, distracted by the murmurings of his _Pearl_. "Can't ye hear her?"

"No, Jack," Norrington said gently. "But I am sure that she speaks to you."

"Here." At his _Pearl_'s request, he took the other man's unresisting hand and placed it on the wheel, then covered it with his own nut-brown palm. "Don't speak. Just listen."

Norrington frowned at him, but humored the request, closing his eyes. Jack could hear his ship purr at all the attention from her favorites, and would have been surprised if his Jamie couldn't – or refused to – listen. Then there it was – Norrington's eyes snapped open in shock, and he murmured, "I don't believe it."

"That's not all o' it, Jamie-luv. Clear yer mind. Listen."

That endearing frown again, and the compliance – eyes narrowing, then he gasped, his gaze swinging to Jack's, wildly. "Jack, I…" he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, or banish something his mind did not want to grasp, then made a low sound. "Oh God. Oh God… I… I think I'm going mad…"

"She likes ye, Jamie-luv," Jack stroked Norrington's arm, the way he would reassure his ship during a storm, or calm a frightened animal. "She don't speak t'just anyone."

A wry smile, though the wildness was still in his eyes. "Who else belongs to this… select club?"

"Meself… mm, mebbe Anamaria, but she don't say… M'think Bootstrap, 'e took th'wheel once for a lark, turned white as a sheet, an' got drunk fer a week… an' Cotton." At Norrington's blink, he added, "The man wi' th'parrot."

"Ah." A nonplussed murmur. Jack warned his _Pearl_ not to shock the other man too much, but she merely laughed at him. "And… and now myself." Norrington looked as though he wanted to pull his hand away, but to his credit, did not. Another shake of the head, then, as if to himself, "At least she calls me James."

"What's she say t'ye?" Jack asked, curious despite himself.

Norrington's lips moved, trembling, as if trying to find words, then he let out a loud exhalation. "She… she…" a low moan, perhaps meant to be a laugh, as the man seemed to struggle with his sanity and with the truth before him. "She said… I…" Another wry, trembling smile that made Jack just want to kiss him breathless. "Why don't you ask her yourself, Jack? I shouldn't make you privy to a communications with a lady."

His _Pearl_ informed him primly that he could do very well to learn some 'manners' from Norrington. Jack sighed at her capriciousness. "She won't tell me if she don't feel like."

"Then all the more reason why I shouldn't," Norrington retorted, though it felt as though he was clinging on to their banter like an anchor in a storm. What a delightfully singular man. Talking squidhead dressed in a buccaneer's outfit and commanding a submersible ship: fine. Ship talking in his head: not fine. "I…" A sudden flush, and a glare at Jack, "What _have _you been teaching your ship, Jack?"

"What? What?" Jack's hands flailed as he took a step back in protest, then he poked the wheel with one dirty finger. "Missy, don't ye be scandalizing Jamie now, 'e ain't used to it."

"Your _Black Pearl_, Jack," Norrington said slowly, delicately, "And I have permission to say this… is giving me very…" his flush deepened, "_Explicit_ instructions, as to the treatment of your personal well-being."

Jack stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter, so uncontrollable that he stumbled and Norrington had to steady him with an arm. "She… she did what?" Another gasping choke, before dissolving again into mirth.

"_And_, I may add," Norrington's lips twitched briefly into a smile, the laughter contagious, the wildness in his eyes subsiding, and he bent his head to kiss Jack's sashed forehead with tender affection, "She is _very_ bossy. Get her way too often, does she?"

"Always," Jack replied, softly subsiding in the warmth of the loose embrace. "Ye better watch out." A brief cough of laughter was the only response.

It was with reluctance that he pulled away when the shipbuilders came back up on deck.

--

The ship repair harbor was relatively empty, reinforcing Jack's opinion that the pirate Captains he had seen in Tortuga that had previously been chased out of Jamaica by Norrington had only slunk back in to pull out their roots, and hadn't engaged in any sort of actual piracy or skirmishes with the Navy. The only other ship docked and wreathed in scaffolding was the galleon _Angry Sky_, sporting several holes in her side from what was undoubtedly cannon fire. Norrington pursed his lips as he looked at it, the gleam in his eyes not unlike that of a sea hawk surveying a shoal of fish. Old habits, it seemed, died hard – at least when the man was sober. "Does that still belong to Captain Urik Aversson?"

"Still does, an' he 'asn't forgiven ye fer sinkin' 'is flagship," Jack pulled Norrington away from the rail. "So ye be careful now, Jamie-luv. T'aint every cap'n in Tortuga on th'same level as Halsh, an' ye don't want no trouble if ye want t'get back t'Port Royal in one piece."

Tia had docked next to them, and Jack watched as she stepped out onto the harbor as queenly as she could, speaking imperiously to a dapper, red-headed man dressed in a loose shirt rolled up to his elbows and paint-blotched pants, gesturing at the _Pearl_ all the while. Jack climbed down his _Pearl_ to join them, wincing at the effort his body had to make just to do that, Norrington following with that damnable curiosity.

"Captain Sparrow!" the red-headed man gasped, all but leaping forward to shake his hand, his Irish accent making his stammered words almost incomprehensible in his shock. "You here, and the _Pearl_! A miracle, it is!" He looked up at the ship briefly, and then frowned. "But she's been damaged something bad, Sparrow." A shiver, as his practiced eye no doubt noticed the holes punched into the side of the ship could not have been made by cannonballs. "By something big." The man looked over at Norrington, then back at the ship, obviously not recognizing him, and also obviously far more interested in the damaged ship.

"M'know, I was there," Jack waved a hand impatiently at him. "Now can ye fix 'er, or not, O'Malley?"

"Of course I can. She'd be brand new at the end of it, and better, you'd never even notice the difference – I still got some of that fine wood from the last shipment. I'd even get some new sails refitted. But I'm to understand Miss Dalma is paying for it?" He turned to look at Tia, who nodded curtly. "Ah. I'd charge it to your account, then. No problems. Er. I'd be starting now."

The man walked off to speak with the men who had just disembarked from the _Pearl_, clearly relieved to be putting some distance between himself and the witch. Tia touched Jack on the arm to get his attention. "There be some things on dat ship o' mine, think youse should put them in yer _Pearl_. Tia don't want 'em, an' youse got problems o' yer own sortin' out supplies." Sure enough, her attendants were already moving the previous contents of the cabin out onto the harbor, and towards a warehouse. "O'Malley allow us some space t'store, fer a small charge."

Jack nodded, obviously impatient to be off to make a nuisance of himself hovering over the shipbuilders.

"An' now Tia be leavin'," she said, leaning up to peck Jack on the cheek, then, to Norrington's embarrassment, did the same to him. "Youse both be stayin' safe, now."

"I'd visit again after everythin'," Jack promised, his eyes drifting inevitably each time to his ship.

Tia laughed playfully, even as she gestured at her attendants, who had finished unloading the cargo, to start preparing for departure. "Don't you be makin' promises youse can't keep, Jack Sparrow! Youse be seein' Tia again only when yer get into 'nother scrape. Miz Dalma, she knows this."

--

Apparently still in awe of what he saw as the 'miraculous escape', and cowed by Tia Dalma, O'Malley allowed them the free use of spare sleeping quarters in the squat, unassuming building that housed his employees. Norrington had immediately stripped coat, shirt, and boots off and wriggled under the covers, all but purring in exhausted contentment. Jack watched him with a faint smile, and then did the same, snuggling against him, chuckling when his Jamie grumbled that he was cold. The _Black Pearl_ had sulked most terribly when she found out that they had taken O'Malley up on his offer, but she conceded the point that, given the current wreckage in the captain's cabin and the noisy work of repair about her, she was currently uninhabitable.

Jack lay awake despite the complaint of his body, listening to Norrington's heart, stroking one warm flank. He tried to concentrate on the simple pleasure of being held, but his mind kept straying. He had gained the _Black Pearl_, only to lose James.

_Temporarily_, his _Pearl _informed him. Jack agreed, but it didn't make it seem any less painful.

Norrington abruptly muttered something unintelligible into Jack's hair, and then reached up to trail fingers over his cheek. "You think too loudly."

"Yer goin' away," Jack replied, without preamble.

"You have your _Pearl_," was the weary reply. "Leave it be."

"T'aint neither of ye substitutes fer th'other."

"Greedy, Jack," the playful chiding tone was tempered by sadness. "You always want it all."

"An' why not?" Jack snuggled closer, brushing his lips against warm flesh.

"It's a rare man who gets everything he wants."

"Yer implyin' that m'not?" Cheekily.

"No, Jack. You are a rare man." A soft sigh. "And I may be a fool to give you up."

"Nobody said anythin' 'bout givin' up," Jack poked Norrington in the ribs, making him flinch. "M'just lettin' ye go, Jamie-luv. T'do what ye feel is right. But there'd be a day when m'_Pearl_ an' I, we be 'avin' ye back. When there's an opportune moment, savvy."

Another sigh, then lips curved into a faint smile against his forehead. "And I have no choice in the matter?"

"None whatsoever."

A dry, bitter laugh. "Pirate."

"An' don't ye forget that." To emphasize the point, Jack wriggled up until he was on face level with his Jamie, and pressed soft kisses on trembling lips until they parted, tenderness fast becoming something savage, desperate, despairing. Norrington buried his head in Jack's shoulder when they broke for air, with a soft, broken cry, and the pirate cradled him, stroking and petting, and humming tunelessly, soothingly, until the other man was plucked away into sleep.

Jack stared at the cracked wall opposite him; the lines muted in the moonlight, and was glad that the darkness hid the wetness on his cheeks.

--

Norrington was gone when Jack finally woke from his deep, exhausted sleep. He looked up at the ceiling, blinking kohl-rimmed eyes that stung for a moment, and then he rolled carefully to his feet. Dressing slowly, in respect of the ache in his body, he noticed papers on the dresser of the small room, pinned in place by Norrington's pistol, and he picked them up. The first was that damned Letter of Marque, and the second was written in Norrington's graceful calligraphy. "Oh, bugger."

'_Jack, _

_ I wanted to say good-bye to you but I couldn't bring myself to wake you up. I am afraid that if it came to that, you could far too easily persuade me to stay. Too much has happened that can be graced with a simple farewell, and I wish I didn't have to leave – but as you know, there are others who need me, whom I have forgotten for too long. However, the past few days with you have been the best time of my life._

_ There is one other matter I could not tell you to your face, but which you likely already know is true. I love you, Jack. _

_ If you value that, if you understand, please, don't come after me. And if all goes well, if I am given back my old life, I ask you again to leave the Caribbean. When Elizabeth broke my heart – twice, I knew you understood exactly what had happened and what it meant in terms of pain. I think I do not need to convince you how it would break my heart again, and worse, if I had to be your executioner. _

_Stay free, Jack. _

_James Norrington_

_P.S Tia lent me the means to charter passage off Tortuga. She meant well, and I hope you won't think ill of her for doing so._'

Jack let out an inarticulate sound that could have been part grief, part frustration. He thrust the papers into his coat and jammed the pistol into his belt. His own was missing – likely taken by Norrington as a souvenir – not that Jack begrudged it of him, as he hurried out of the living quarters, blinking in the bright sun. The _Black Pearl_ sat under a mass of scaffolding and busy men, just like the _Angry Sky_. The pirate swore, knowing that it would take a very long time for her to be fit to sail. A long time before he could go sniffing for ex-Commodores.

_Go_, she suggested. _Follow him._

"M'can't, missy," Jack leaned against the door, feeling defeated. He had known that Norrington would leave, and that he would be very unlikely to be able to stop him, but the loss still hit him hard. "He don't want me to."

The _Black Pearl_ seemed disbelieving – _when has that stopped you_ – she replied tartly.

"'sides, 'e's a slippery 'un. An' 'e 'as that spellwork from Tia," Jack ignored the strange glances he was getting from O'Malley's passing employees. "So 'e'd be fine."

_Would you?_

"M'be fine, missy, after a bit o'rum," Jack knew he was giving lie to his words, but he didn't much care. "An' when yer all fixed, we'd be goin' t'get it all back. All of it, missy, an' t'hell wi' anythin' in our way."

He could sense his _Pearl_'s doubtful satisfaction with that reassurance, but she didn't make any further comment as he wandered off towards town, intent on reacquainting himself with a bottle of rum.

_Many_ bottles of rum.


	9. Unwelcome Revelations

Author's note for Chapter 9: After another brief look through Wiki, it seems that Kingston may not have existed in this form during PotC-Port Royal, depending on whether the Port Royal in question is the 'old' or 'new' one after the earthquake. However, as this is a fanfic and I am unable to think of any better names at the moment for alternative cities, or do further research, there will be a Kingston. Readers may look forward to further historical inaccuracies later in the fic. The author believes this poetic justice, as she is from Singapore, which really only became a British settlement in 1819. Since it appears that that PoTC likely took place in the late 1600s - 1700s… Jack is unlikely to have learned any tricks regarding corsets in a Malay fishing village. Time, however, is flexible in fics, as is distance. XD Please suspend disbelief!

Also (my, this is a long note) I know that Sparrow getting a Turner sword has been done before, in fics. I read lots of sparrington fics, so, as is fairly obvious, a lot of the devices and such have influenced my writing.

Chapter 9

Unwelcome revelations

Jack wished, not for the first time in his bloody life, that things would go along with the Plan.

At the moment, life dictated that he was clinging precariously to a crumbling rock face, too high above the rocky beach below for his personal comfort, via having jammed his toes into any available cranny, fingers gripping a creeper for dear life. And, to make things worse, he was also having to help a very frightened, almost hysterical, and pregnant, woman down with him.

"Easy there, luv. Easy there," he struggled to keep his voice calm, as he directed slippered feet onto ledges. "To yer left, there's a creeper. Use that."

"I can't believe ye got me t'agree t'this," the woman quavered for the tenth time. Dressed in a maid's blue and white uniform, down to the stupid fluffy bonnet, the slightly puffier brown face held a distinct resemblance to his first mate, but lacked the hardness, the fierce, unbridled courage that was his Anamaria.

And it had all seemed like such a _good_ plan in the tavern. Jack cursed under his breath.

--

In between the repairs, refitting and supplies, Jack had managed to recruit a new crew, partially consisting of men who were awed by the tale (overblown, and rather untrue at parts) of how he had escaped the clutches of Davy Jones and the Kraken, men who were interested in his next piratical venture, and men who'd needed a working way to Kingston. And they'd set sail, making good time, his _Pearl_ as fiercely happy as her captain to be free out on the sea again, to race the horizon.

It had felt very strange to be able to dock openly in Kingston. As much as he hated the piece of paper, the Letter of Marque had been very useful, despite meaning that he had to pay docking fees (which he had done so, ungraciously). After having warned his remaining crew not to cause too much trouble, he'd set off to find Anamaria, leaving his _Black Pearl_ to compare herself smugly to the other, vastly inferior ships in the harbor and preen in front of sightseers.

He'd only barely set foot in the sprawling trading town when a dark-skinned urchin ran up to him, and tugged at his trouser leg. "Cap'n Jack Sparrow," the boy said with a mutter, his eyes darting around at incurious passers-by. "Anamaria be waitin' fer ye at th'Crow's Nest tavern, a shillin' fer me trouble."

Jack paid up, careful to watch the urchin's hands in case the boy decided to try and pick his pocket, and strolled off in his swaggering walk to look for the tavern in question. He'd even nodded at some of the Navy patrols that marched by, but they hadn't bothered to give him a second glance. Navy in their pretty coats and white breeches. Jack wondered how Norrington was doing, and clamped down on the welling sense of frustration. Kingston was so close to Port Royal – no time at all, for his _Pearl_. It would be so easy to take a peek…

He asked directions from a street side merchant selling skewers of roast chicken over a crock of coals, and bought one for his trouble, wandering down the streets as told and looking at shops and houses with a practiced eye. Pillaging Kingston, however, was too difficult for the likes of one pirate ship crewed by non-undead crew, even if his _Pearl_, having been newly repaired, now made the Letter of Marque unnecessary. Fast growing into the trading center of Jamaica, Kingston kept a greater Navy presence – not to mention, of course, its proximity to Port Royal and the pretty Commodore there who struck fear into the hearts of pirates. _Most pirates_.

Kingston itself was much like many other towns he had seen – a large, poor colored majority, a small, richer white elite. Beggars sheltered from the balmy heat in alleys, asking in torn voices for alms. Jack stepped aside on the street as a gilded carriage rattled past, drawn by two spirited, matching dappled gray horses. Lace curtains fluttered briefly open, Jack glimpsing a lady out for a drive. It made him want to start stealing things, but then, he had a lady to meet, and she was known for her very bad temper.

The Crow's Nest was a sailor's tavern, relatively near the harbor and the harbormaster's office, filled even at this time of day with drinking men fresh from the sea, loudly exclaiming over the price of sails and the difference in prices in the trading ports. Jack cast his eye quickly over unfamiliar faces, then settled in a corner, ordering rum. Hard-faced waitresses served rough men and endured pinches with thin smiles. The burly barkeep bellowed with laughter at a raunchy joke from a regular. Sand strewn on the ground failed to hide stains, and his tankard was none too clean, either.

Sharp ears picked up conversation from a couple of tables to his right. Other privateers, discussing a subject close to any piratical heart. The Navy.

"… t'be sure, I was in Port Royal fer a wee bit, visiting me girl, an' I saw 'im at the fort."

"Who?"

"_Him_. The Pirate Hunter. 'e's back, an' God bless any pirate left on th'seas who ain't bought an' paid fer by the Crown."

"Thought 'e died on th'sea. Damnable luck."

"Naw, 'e's back. Been circulatin' in Port Royal – seems 'e went on some secret errand fer th'Navy, did somethin' right big. Beckett an' he, they're best mates now, they say. Been seen talkin', an' Beckett's been heard to say 'e's pushin' fer Norrington t'be promoted t'Admiral. Fer 'services rendered to th'Crown'."

The privateers, Jack included, took a deep swig of their rum, mulling this over.

"Beckett an' Norrington. 'Tis enough t'keep a man like us lot t'Spanish towns."

"Aye, truth t'that. Tortuga be right quiet these days."

Jack would have liked to hear more, but at that point, a slim figure dressed in a heavy coat and a wide-brimmed hat sat down at his table and ordered a tankard in a gruff voice. Jack had to fight a grin. Anamaria always said she preferred male garb and the relative freedom it came with, but it had needed a very heavy coat indeed to hide her curves. "Cap'n."

"Anamaria." And that was all that had to be said. He saw full lips slip into a wry, affectionate smile under the brim of the hat, and he was sure there was an answering one on his face. They still fought on the _Pearl_ sometimes, fearsome shouting matches over direction, purpose, or even weather signals that would send all but Gibbs scurrying for cover, but they were fast friends, and Jack trusted her with his life – within reason.

She nodded curtly as a waitress brought her a tankard, and drank, practiced, before speaking. "I saw the _Pearl_ in the harbor. She called t'me. She's lookin' good, Cap'n." Anamaria paused. "Though I didn't think ye'd ever accept one o' those Letters."

"Aye. Well. There were mitigatin' circumstances, an' th'like, t'will be explained onboard. We're here fer ye. An' Tia, she tell me ye need me help."

Anamaria looked up at Jack. A hard face that had kept a cool mask when they boarded merchant ships or fought back the Navy was visibly on the verge of exhausted collapse, emotional turmoil having etched a frown into handsome features. "It's m'sister."

And Jack had found himself listening, with a sinking heart (chasing Commodores would have to wait) to a rather lurid tale of how Anamaria's sister Ayla had, unlike her sibling, decided to get honest work. Which in the case of a poor, unattached woman of color meant maid work in the home of one of the white elite in Kingston. Unfortunately, she (presumably) shared her sister's striking good looks, and found herself in a very unwanted spot of trouble when she realized that she was pregnant, with the child of a young Lord who couldn't keep his hands to himself. Unfortunately (again), this young Lord was also already married, but to a (shrew of a woman, Anamaria supplied) lady who was barren. They were going to wait till the child was born, then kill Ayla, and hope it had enough resemblance to the young Lord to explain away its darker colour. In the meantime, they would keep Ayla at the mansion. This Ayla had found out, as she was a kitchen maid most times and Cook was fond of her, to the extent of paying for a missive to reach Anamaria. Who had then left the _Pearl_, but so far had been unable to come up with a way to extract Ayla from the mansion, which was well guarded.

"Why can't it be _simple_ trouble?" Jack whined, when Anamaria finished.

--

He had, however, aided by rum, come up with a suitably ingenious idea. Some tars lounging at the dock had been encouraged, with free rum lifted from the back of a briefly unguarded wagon, to create a drunken disturbance outside said mansion. Anamaria was to lay low close by and wait for a signal – she was to provide the means of their escape disturbance with the use of a stolen donkey hitched to a rickety cart filled with melons, that could easily overturn and send fruit everywhere. While the guards were occupied, Jack, armed with rope, would climb over one of the tastefully ivy-covered walls, sidle over to the house, incapacitate any guards, find the lass and steal out, helped by Anamaria's aforementioned second disturbance. Easy.

The tars had done their job well, almost to the point where Jack wondered if they were paid to do this often, and he had gotten into the grounds without difficulty. The terribly English garden, what with its big trees and copious hedges, had provided good cover as he snuck over to the back door. The bored guard had been easily knocked unconscious and pulled behind a hedge, and he'd slipped in, only to be menaced by a huge woman with a cleaver. It was the kitchen, and its mistress had sharp ears and eyes.

"You've got a lot of guts, sneaking in like this, thief," the woman had growled, in a smooth working-class English accent, multiple chins wobbling with fury.

Jack knew that technically, he had a sword, _and_ Norrington's pistol, but this was a sight to put the fear of God in any man. Ringed hands shot up in a placatory gesture as he took an involuntary step backwards. "Wait! Wait! M'here fer Miz Ayla. Her sister an' I, we be hearin' that she be in some sort o' trouble in th'family way, an' we're going t'get her out o' Kingston."

"You seem like a very unlikely rescuer," Cook said doubtfully, but the cleaver was lowered a little. "But I s'pose you don't look like much of the bad sort. Who might you be?"

"Did Ayla tell ye anythin' 'bout her sister?"

"Only that she be a sailor on the high seas, and a mighty fine one." Cook smiled indulgently. "Strange fancies, that girl has."

"T'aint a fancy, Miss," Jack said with a gold-toothed grin. "I be Miz Anamaria's Cap'n, an' no finer First Mate 'as any Cap'n ever 'ad th'pleasure o' employin'." Despite the situation, and the time limit, he found himself regaling Cook with a short, condensed extract of one of their more curious escapades with a Spanish merchant ship, though he was quick to proclaim himself a privateer (even if that had not been exactly true at the time). It worked, however – Cook seemed friendlier, charmed by his roguish smiles and fluttering hands.

"Ayla is likely dusting the parlor on the ground floor at this time of day. You go through that door and keep right, the servant's quarters are likely empty, but if you meet anyone say you're my new help. From there, there's a door marked with a small stitching, behind that the corridor leads to the parlor."

The next problem was that the mansion was far, far too big, and although the instructions had been explicit, the place was still downright confusing. He'd finally managed to locate Ayla in one of _several _parlors, but she hadn't been alone, and it had been fairly embarrassing, having to interrupt some sort of secret tryst between Ayla and what was likely the young Lord.

"Ayla, please. You have to believe me. Stop trying to escape. We won't harm you, and why, Sara and I, we'd make sure the child has the best of everything."

Ayla's fisted hands were shaking as she backed away from the man. "I don't trust ye, Jacob. I've seen and heard things, and I wasn't born yesterday. Ye just want the child, after dat m'just an inconvenience." She let out a squeal as, backing away, she stepped on Jack's foot, whirling in fright. "Who…?"

"Friend o' Anamaria's." Jack bit down an oath at the stab of pain in his foot, and smiled coolly at the man, who was frowning at him, mouth opening to shout for guards, and drew his pistol, cocking it. "No shoutin' now."

With Ayla's dazed help, they'd tied Jacob to a chair, and gagged him with his handkerchief. Jack looked at the fop in disgust, taking in the dissolute eyes, the slicked back hair and the extremely ornate coat and breeches. "Now, m'lived a long time, whelp, but there's not many things m'know that're more evil than havin' a woman carry yer child by seducin' her, an' then think o' killin' her for th'babe. Ayla be _human_, not just a warm belly t'be swelled with yer get. We be leavin', but if ye come after us, m'won't wait th'next time to put a bullet through th'bit that hurts most." A pointed gesture with the pistol at Jacob's crotch. The man whimpered into his gag.

Ayla was shaking under his arm as he pulled her quickly to the kitchen, where she wailed and flew into the chubby arms of Cook. Jack waited impatiently as they spoke together in low tones for a while, then shouts outside as guards discovered the body behind the hedge informed him that time had just run out. He grabbed Ayla by the arm and pulled her to the door, looking out, then jerking back as a shot was fired into the frame where his head had been.

Cursing, he blinked as he found himself pushed aside by Cook. "_I'd_ handle this. You and Anamaria look after Ayla now. She's a sweet girl." A pause. "Ayla, you take him to the rose bushes. The wall is low there and you can climb down to the beach, no problems. I did that before when I was a gel, lots of times, no problems at all."

--

And therefore their current, precarious position. _No problems, his ass_. Jack swore again at another feminine whimper above him, easing Ayla down slowly as he reached for another ledge below him. His heart stopped for a moment as he only found air, then he breathed out again as he managed to find a step.

Admittedly, seeing Cook rush out, hysterical and loud, and run wailing towards a group of armed guards (all stock still in horror at the sight of the huge amount of womanly flesh bearing down on them), shrieking about how there were robbers in the house, evil, _horrible _robbers, who had menaced her and were likely now making away with the house silver, had nearly made everything worth it. Nearly. In all the confusion, they'd managed to leave for the rose bushes without being noticed. Hopefully, Cook could even get a message out to Anamaria, who was likely worried about all the commotion and the delay by now. However, they still had a long way to go down to level ground…

It seemed an eternity until they'd gotten down onto the beach, and Ayla sat on the ground for a while, stunned at what they had done, her breathing in short, frightened gasps. _Definitely nothing like Anamaria_, Jack decided, and wondered how his _Pearl_ would take to the new passenger. Finally, impatient, he held out a hand, pulling her to her feet, and they set off down the beach back towards the harbor. Jack tried not to look too much at the somewhat noticeable swell in Ayla's belly. _Yet_ another problem. As if he didn't already have enough to deal with.

They were met near the beginning of the port proper by a breathless Anamaria. The sisters embraced, and there was much weeping and feminine exclamations of joy. Jack looked at his boots, at his fingernails, toyed with his compass, adjusted his hat, pulled at his cuffs, and then finally coughed politely. "We best be getting' back t'me _Pearl_, ladies, 'least until we come up wi' what t'do next."

"Awlright, Cap'n," Anamaria agreed easily, the sisters holding hands, all but clinging to each other as they went to the _Pearl_, unchallenged despite the relatively odd trio they made – a brightly dressed buccaneer with an almost drunken swagger, a slim 'boy' in a heavy coat and a wide hat, and a woman in a maid's costume.

Back aboard the _Pearl_, Jack was quick to put a hand on the rail, and listen to her mood. She seemed curious about the newcomer, but also willing to at least give her the benefit of the doubt due to her blood relation to one of the _Pearl_'s favorites. Jack let out a sigh of relief, and nodded to Anamaria – her shoulders relaxed slightly. She, at least, understood the dynamic between Jack and his ship, something that Barbossa never bothered to and never believed in. "What ye be doin' now, Cap'n?"

"Me _Pearl_ still needs somethin' in th'ways o' furnishin' an' supplies, so m'thinkin' I go do a wee bit o' shoppin', while ye introduce yer sister t'this fine ship." An affectionate pat on the rail. "She'd 'ave t'share yer cabin, though. An' ye better watch yerselves wi' th'new crew."

"What happened t'Gibbs? An' Marty, an' Cotton?" Anamaria blinked, realizing belatedly that she saw no familiar faces.

"Long story. M'tell ye later," Jack said, turning to disembark again. Now that he had saved the damsel, he had some more mundane ship maintenance issues to deal with. Not to mention the second part of the Plan.

--

On the second day, Jack perched on a stack of crates as he watched men haul supplies and other necessary items up the _Pearl_. He had a stash here in Kingston – though not in the way of that in Tortuga – more along the rather piratical theme of buried loot, and it had tided him over well, aided by any number of lifted purses. More importantly, the word of the presence of the infamous black ship had spread like wildfire around Kingston. The crowd of sightseers grew daily, as did the presence of worried Navy. He had been sure at times to drop all sorts of hints regarding his previous escapades in front of his crew on the voyage to Kingston, and he smirked occasionally as he heard an embellished version on the street, whispered when he walked by.

On the third day, even hard-bitten old sea tars were buying Jack drinks in the taverns, in exchange for fantastical stories about far-off lands.

On the fourth day, Anamaria told Jack, earnestly, when Jack was charting a course in his cabin, that until they found some solution to her current unemployment and homelessness, Ayla wanted to stay, and that she would make herself useful by cooking. Jack had been skeptical, but all doubts dissolved when he and his crew tasted Ayla's cooking at dinner. If not for the problem of the pregnancy, it was very likely that Jack would have begun plans to find a way to keep the new cook. There was no sign of pursuit from the young Lord.

On the fifth day, Jack reacted to Ayla's very shy question as to whether he and Anamaria were 'together' by laughing uproariously, as he thought of green eyes as changeable as the sea.

On the sixth day, Anamaria had caught him daydreaming, for the fourth time, at the crow's nest, and slyly asked him who his new conquest was. He had reacted with no words, only a startled, slightly crooked smile – and she snorted. "Lovesick fool," was her opinion.

On the seventh day, a package arrived for him – a heavy, brown paper wrapped rectangle that was pushed into his hands. The stocky man who delivered it left quickly before Jack could question him.

Jack walked into his cabin as fast as he could, and unwrapped his present. A beautiful wooden box of dark mahogany, with silver hinges and clasps. He whistled, and then opened it to see what was unmistakably a Turner sword, and a custom made one. The tempered steel swept into an ornate hilt with black enamel, silver and gold wreathing the centerpiece – a black pearl, on which a sparrow perched, cunningly wrought in bronze, its tiny wings outstretched as if to fly. The sheath was expensive leather, with florid calligraphy stitched near the hilt: 'C. J. S.'

Turning the sword around, he noted a card tied to it in bright red string. It was addressed to him, in young Will's careful writing.

'_Jack, if you're reading this, then Elizabeth and I have been happily married, and we have somehow found a way to get this to you. It's the only way we felt we could even begin to thank you for your part in bringing us together. You're a good man, Jack. We hope this sword can help preserve your freedom. _

_Sincerely,_

_William and Elizabeth Turner'_

Jack lifted the sword, and noticed a small cylinder of paper beneath it, held by a white gold ring in the shape of a curling surf that cradled an emerald of the same flashing green hue as Norrington's eyes. He drew out the note, and chuckled as he read it – curt, imperious, and so very James.

'_What are you doing? Leave. Now._'

The pirate slipped the ring onto a finger, and sat down in the plush chair at the desk, crossing his boots on the heavy wood and playing with the hilt of the sword absently, and the heavy maroon tassel at the tip. So, young Will had likely forged the sword before the wedding, and had meant to get married and somehow send it to him, before all the business with the arrest and Beckett. And Norrington had somehow acquired the sword, no doubt upon his recent return to Port Royal, heard that Jack was close by in Kingston, and sent it to him, along with the curt missive and the other present.

The big problem was, if Norrington knew he was here, then so did Beckett. On the other hand, he was now a privateer, assuming everything had gone 'well', and assuming that Beckett was content with the heart. He might have caused Beckett and the East India Trading Company problems in the past, but he knew (and was careful to ensure) that they saw him as small fish only, beneath their notice.

Jack sat up straight as a thought occurred to him.

What if Beckett _wasn't_ after the heart? What if he was after, indeed, just the compass? For some other end?

His fingers clutched the compass tightly, possessively, as he thought this out. Yes, why had everybody assumed Beckett had wanted the heart? Because _Jack_ wanted the heart, and Jack had a way of warping the attention of everything in the area towards himself, ego aside. But that would mean Beckett had the same motives as Jack, which he likely didn't, not having to Jack's knowledge asked Davy Jones to raise him a ship from the depths.

No, no. 'Lizabeth had mentioned something about that. Beckett had wanted the compass, not for Aztec gold, but he'd mentioned that there was 'more than one chest of treasure in the sea'. Which had helped the assumption that Beckett wanted the chest that contained the heart wot was now in his possession. And since he seemed such good chums with Jamie now, it was definitely a good argument that he was, in fact, after the heart.

But it wouldn't explain the obviously worried tone of the note, nor Norrington's repeated entreaties for Jack not to follow him to Port Royal, if the pirate captain had indeed been pardoned by the Letter of Marque. Evidently, his Jamie had reached a conclusion regarding Beckett's motives weeks before him. So. It wasn't the heart, after all, though evidently Beckett knew a good thing when he saw it. It was still the compass. And this close to Port Royal, he was _definitely_ in potential danger.

Buckling the sword at his belt and discarding the old one on the table, he ran out to deck, shouting orders for the crew to round up the others from the tavern. Anamaria shot him a startled look. If he hadn't been so worried about his thoughts, he'd have been amused at how weatherbeaten sea dogs were keeping a respectful distance from her and her sister. It had been barely a week, and his First Mate had already cowed them with her fearsome temper and quick skill with a blade. "What's wi' ye, Jack?"

"Trouble, Anamaria," Jack said shortly. "East India Tradin' Company. Beckett."

She'd gasped, and then quickly began to direct the crew to prepare the _Pearl_ to sail. Jack went up to the helm, and felt his beautiful ship's anticipation in the hum below his fingers.

Soon they were arrowing over the waves, towards open sea. Anamaria approached him, her face drawn with worry and annoyance. "Ye be keepin' somethin' from me, Cap'n?"

"Beckett. 'e wants th'compass, an' I don't know why."

"Who told yer dat?" Anamaria demanded, then her eyes fell to the new sword at his belt. "The boy?"

"No. A friend," Jack said shortly. Anamaria's eyes narrowed.

"Jack, what 'ave ye gotten us into dis time?" Jack attempted to look hurt, but Anamaria folded her arms, determined. "And ye 'aven't given me an explanation o' what ye've been up to."

Jack caved with a sigh, and gave her what had been intended to be a short version of everything that had happened since she had left the _Pearl_. However, somewhere along the tale his ego had gotten away with his mouth, and it turned out to be far longer, and somewhat more incredible, than what had actually happened. He did, however, leave out all the… goings on, with Norrington, though Anamaria looked as though she suspected something, what with that little frown on her brow.

"So, what're we be doin' now? Chase Gibbs an' the rest to dis 'World's End' place?"

"Actually, m'thinkin' I should pay Port Royal a visit. To thank me… friend. After all, nobody's goin' t'expect us t'run off from Kingston, an' circle back so close. T'will be safe, even."

"Yer _crazy_, Jack," Anamaria screeched, losing her grip on her temper, "We're in the opposite direction, an' if ye be forgettin', _Beckett is in Port Royal_! As is yer bloody friend _Norrington_!"

Brown eyes widened suddenly, in revelation. "Cap'n. Don't tell me. Yer 'friend', wot sent ye the sword… _is_… the Pirate Hunter."

He tried to smirk, but something wrong happened to his facial control, and it came out as a soft smile at the memory of aristocratic fingers caressing his cheek, loosely tied tresses and a fine-boned face. Tanning skin and a voice that could hold both steely command, or speak with heart-wrenching tenderness.

Anamaria took in the expression on his face with a classic look of pure horror, connecting it with her previous question to Jack a day ago, at the crow's nest.

"Jack. Ye _didn't_. Oh. Lord. Ye _did_."


	10. Feints and Distractions

Author has decided that PotC Port Royal, for the purposes of the story, will be post-earthquake Port Royal, albeit modified. Come to think of it, she isn't very sure whether Beckett had in fact repossessed the office, or whether he _is_ in the fort. Oh well. Apologies for very obvious use of common plot devices in this chapter, but couldn't come up with a better way to get the story going.

Chapter 10

Feints and distractions

And so it was that Captain Jack Sparrow, despite the protestations of his First Mate and her many loudly given opinions as to his intelligence and sanity, skulked around Port Royal, visiting taverns and making discreet enquiries as to the whereabouts of various places, catching up with the latest gossip. He spent another day memorizing patrol schedules, and guard changes, as he thought about the current situation in the town. He rather mourned the loss of the spellwork from Tia, which had fallen apart at some time during the refitting of his _Pearl_, no doubt when Norrington had reached Port Royal.

With the arrival of one of the pillars of the East India Trading Company, Port Royal was fast becoming more than just a primarily Naval base. The reemergence of commerce, albeit restrained, was showing in the rather busier atmosphere of the town, despite its proximity to Kingston. The relative safety that merchants felt Norrington's and Beckett's names provided, it seemed, was conducive to trade. Already, new buildings were under construction – shops, warehouses, even slightly temporary-looking housing, in a terribly British grid pattern.

Jack himself booked rooms with an old friend at a quiet inn off the main thoroughfare, now crowded with animal-drawn carts and the shouts and curses of merchants – the stink of the fish market and the leavings of horses. The thing about 'any port in a storm', Jack knew, extended far better towards making friends with select innkeepers and tipping generously, as compared to having lovers, who tended to get jealous at long absences. And so, at nearly every important town in Jamaica, Jack was sure to have at least one innkeeper who would put up with him for a couple of nights, nice and quiet, in return for big tips and being left alone during any raids that Jack may care to stage. More importantly, innkeepers tended to be very up to date with any local gossip.

The _Devil's Flute_ had been used before by himself, Bootstrap and Barbossa on one of their brief stopovers to check out a tip in the area as to the latest merchant trends, and (perhaps out of habit) had been left untouched during even the raid to extract Elizabeth. The grocery and the carpenter beside it hadn't been so lucky.

Jack bought a tankard of rum, and sat at the bar, encouraging Evans to talk by sliding some shiny coins over the polished wood.

"Don't know what ye be back 'ere in these parts fer, Jack, but ye be best-advised t'move on," the stout man said as he industriously polished a tankard. "Even if ye got that Letter, it's a smart man, pirate or not, who'd give those two sharks a wide berth. An' Mister Turner, he ain't back from his vacation wi' Miss Swann t'help ye out now."

"That what they're callin' it? Vacation?" Jack asked curiously.

"Yeh, m'heard soldiers sayin', t'was some sort o' mix up, the arrest. Wrong evidence or summat. To soothe their… heh… 'frayed nerves', the two o' them 'ave booked up on a cruise to England." Evans leaned closer, the natural curiosity of the innkeeper aroused. "T'aint that right, Jack?"

"M' going t'tell ye what happened, but ye better not let word o' it out 'till m'gone," Jack said, looking about him with comic caution. "'Cos, m'here fer a quiet visit, an' don't want t'leave wi' trouble." And he launched into an extended version of the story with Davy Jones (even more so than the one he had provided to Anamaria), inserting some clever repartee here and there that could have happened, and a lot of action and dazzling sword play that had not. He left out Elizabeth tricking him, instead making up a scene of tearful feminine farewell. He also left out the entire issue of Norrington, instead concocting a very unlikely story involving harnessing dolphins, seaweed and much rum regarding his rescue, and making up an entirely fictional crewmember for the rest of his part in stealing the heart. "An' that's that. M'don't know where they are now, probably tryin' t'save Turner's da', but I'd be findin' out."

Evans obviously didn't know whether or not to believe him or not, but that was the way of innkeepers. Jack had no doubt that within a day of his leaving Port Royal, there would be an even more fantastical version of the tale circulating around. "What happened to th'heart?"

"Mm?" Jack drained his tankard, and then watched as Evans refilled it without asking. "Oh. That. Well, m'lost it, didn't I. Traitor in me crew."

"An' that's a real pity," Evans nodded thoughtfully. "Though, I 'eard tales that the _Flying Dutchman_ been seen lately protecting East India Trading Company ships from privateers o' other countries, but 'as been hangin' about the ships o' it's bigger competitors. Scarin' them off. An' it's been sinkin' other ships carryin' opium to Canton. An' it all started when Norrington came back."

"Did it now," Jack said thoughtfully, tapping at his cheek absently with grubby fingers. Beckett was obviously very amused with his new toy, but it didn't put Jack any closer to finding out why he wanted the compass.

"So I'm thinkin', yer crewmate, he must 'ave run afoul o' the Hunter, who brought it back 'ere. Must be why, seems, 'e's so friendly wi' Beckett, now," the innkeeper said slowly. "So the heart is in Port Royal. Is that why yer here, Jack?"

Jack had actually had no intention whatsoever of acquiring the heart, having been more preoccupied with the Beckett Question, Norrington and his newly fitted _Pearl_, but he smiled slowly, showing gold teeth. Admittedly, it wasn't that bad an idea, even if he hadn't been the one to come up with it. Although Davy Jones was no longer on his tail, just having possession of the heart could be useful.

Evans laughed, shaking his head slowly. "Yer right mad, ye are. 'e probably 'as it in his office, up in th'fort. Where Norrington's office was. There was a wee bit o' confusion when the Hunter came back an' got back to Commodorin', but 'e's taken another office, somewhere in th'building, it seems. So ye got the two biggest sharks in Jamaica guardin' yer prize." Another laugh. "M'look forward t' the tale o' how ye manage to lift it from under their noses. If ye spread it 'round Tortuga, no doubt it'd come here, sooner or later."

The rum helped. Jack now had another Plan.

--

First, he 'borrowed' a nice, ornate compass from one of the many shipping-related shops in Port Royal. It had taken a few hours of window-shopping, but he finally found one that looked somewhat like his own, with the black enamel finishing, and some repair tools to match. Jack next spent a while rebalancing the compass, and fiddling with it (so many helpful tools, too little time), such that it wouldn't point North (though it had a tendency to dip, and once stuck to the card). He then removed his own compass from the chain that held it to his belt, and affixed the new one to it instead. Satisfied, he went back to the shops and 'borrowed' certain other types of supplies, including fashionable male clothes that would fit somebody taller than he was (this had been harder, as he had been watched like a hawk by the dumpy shopkeeper, and had to loiter around until a couple had arrived, young and garrulous).

Jack didn't know whether or not to be relieved or annoyed that he hadn't been recognized so far. Or it could be that all that celebrity business just tended to have a transient shelf life. It hurt his ego. Jack reassured himself, however, knowing that if he managed to pull off this caper, he'd be the toast of the street, again. And had to stop from cackling.

To be safe, in case he was searched, he rowed back to his _Pearl_, hidden offshore, and had Anamaria hide the real compass on her person at all times, also storing the new supplies in his cabin. She had given him a long-suffering look, and demanded to know what he was doing (replied with a wicked grin) and how long more it would take (a vague answer).

Jack then purchased some picklocks from an acquaintance of Evans (and miscellaneous other burglary equipment – it was far harder to rob a fellow thief, so he'd had to pay), a small knife that could be hidden up his sleeve, and a small, (and terribly expensive) ladies' dog with a runestone-studded collar, printed with the Governor's address. The dog would have been much harder to 'borrow', sadly enough, and he knew it would be missed, so Jack (grudgingly) paid up, making a mental note to come back and rob the cashier some other time. He'd even had to muzzle it when it wouldn't stop its yapping. It didn't hurt to be prepared, even if by Elizabeth's accounts she had gotten in and out of the office easily enough, in a dress, at that. But then, it was entirely possible that by now the guard would have been improved.

With the dog in the hands of some urchins who were eager to be paid for mischief, Jack clambered up, via a 'borrowed' grappling hook (people were so generous, leaving things here and there for the light-fingered), over the wall of the fort. The sentry was knocked unconscious, tied and gagged, and hidden behind a rain bucket. Now, by Elizabeth's description, Beckett's office had looked out toward the harbor…

Looking for a big office with a balcony, even at nightfall, was relatively easy. Jack watched the shadows until he was sure there was no guard, then he sidled in, keeping his ears alert for the beat that would show him where the heart was. For a brief moment, he thought that Beckett might have the heart on his person, but then there it was – the rhythmic thumps, from the desk drawer.

Jack picked the lock with the accomplished ease of a thorough scoundrel, and drew out the felt bag. Then blinked, when he looked up, to see a rather ascetic-looking man pointing a pistol at him, from over at the door. He hadn't heard anybody come in, nor seen anyone hiding.

Right. Norrington had mentioned something about an assassin-secretary. Jack swallowed, and raised his hands, smiling in as friendly a manner as he could manage. "So, this ain't th'bathroom?"

"Jack Sparrow," the door opened, and Jack heard the voice of one of the few people in the world whom he had cause to hate. Lord Beckett stepped in, and closed it behind him, hands behind his back, shaking his head. "Couldn't keep your hands out of trouble, could you?"

"Sorry mate. Character flaw," Jack said, with a wicked, cold smile. "'ow's the shoulder?"

"Aches something terrible at night," Beckett replied evenly, "Thanks to you, Sparrow, pain is now an old friend."

"Glad t'hear it. That ye be makin' friends, that is," Jack knew he shouldn't be trying to annoy a man who had all the cards, but he couldn't help it, and he loved bluffing.

"And I, you. Though I am surprised that you managed to charm the so-called Pirate Hunter into affirming that you had accepted the Letter of Marque," Beckett smiled, and Jack was reminded of his viper-quick intelligence. He knew he immediately had to divert the course of speculation, for Norrington's sake. "I rather thought you'd never accept it if it came from me."

"Fair was fair, th'heart fer th'paper. M' needed t'buy time fer repairs. Me _Pearl_ an' I thank ye though," Jack said mockingly. "We would'a charged it t'ye if we could, but Tortuga don't accept East India Company credit."

Beckett's eyes were on the compass at Jack's hip. "I suppose you've realized that the heart wasn't what I was after, though it's been an interesting tool."

"That's why I'm 'ere t'parley," Jack said, reaching down slowly to remove the compass, and put it on the desk. "Th'compass."

"What terms?" Beckett was watching him from the large, painted map on the wall.

"Ye leave Jamaica, and I get out o' Port Royal wi'out interference," Jack said shortly. "Though…I be a wee bit curious as t'what other chest in th'sea ye be after, mate."

Beckett smirked, thinking this over. "All right, Sparrow. I agree. The compass, for my leaving Jamaica and you leaving Port Royal without any problems. I'd even satisfy your curiosity." He turned to look at the map, for a moment. "More than one chest out in the sea – I hadn't thought Miss Swann would take that literally. You see, Sparrow, after you gave me a wound with permanent effect in my shoulder, and all the medical problems associated with that, I have been wondering – what is the point of power, without health? Without longevity, youth?" Another pause, as his eyes wandered over the intricately painted map. "And then there's your compass, which would point me to my heart's desire."

And men thought _he_ was mad. Jack smiled, as if he understood, and thought on the spur of the moment, saved by the Classical education that Norrington had realized he had and some unlikely tales he had heard. "So ye be talkin' 'bout the Garden o' th'Hesperides. Ye be lookin' fer th'Golden Apples. Didn't think ye 'ad it in yer, mate, lookin' fer that sort o' thing, an' all by yer ownsies – the treasure o' the Greek Gods, or the Norse 'uns, if ye prefer t'believe their version o' th'apples o' youth an' long life."

Beckett blinked, then frowned at him, struggling to follow the convoluted sentence when he had been in his own reverie. "What are you talking about, Sparrow?"

"Immortality, y'know? Eternal youth?" Jack fluttered his fingers as he swayed on his feet, doing his impression of a harmless, slightly drunken rogue to the hilt. "Since Sirens be real, m'don't see why th'apples wouldn't be. Though, not me taste, mate, immortality. A fast ship an' freedom, that be better."

"You're a small thief, Sparrow, with small dreams," Beckett said pityingly, obviously beginning to lose his patience. "But like an idiot savant, you do occasionally come up with such curiosities. Put the heart down, leave the compass, and get out the way you came. If you're caught, I'd make sure you escape."

Heads turned, as suddenly there were shouts from the Fort gate, the excited barking of a small dog and the screams of thwarted and frightened children. Jack took advantage, as it were, of the opportune moment by throwing the knife hidden in his sleeve. Not a great throw, but it served its purpose – burying itself in the knee of the assassin-secretary. In the confusion that followed, Jack ran for it, scaling back up to the wall, thanking any God that may be listening and Lady Luck in particular for bored sentries who were all clustered up at a corner watching the disturbance with the dog and the urchins over the parapet. No shots behind him, only Beckett's sharp tones in the room he'd left behind, and the snap of the compass lid. Jack moved as stealthily as he could to the grappling rope, and let himself down. Where he then melted back into the shadows of the streets, whistling to himself in satisfaction of a job well done.

--

Jack clambered up a lattice of plants, unidentifiable in the darkness, into the balcony of the only still-lit room in Norrington's residence, and had to pause for a while to drink in the lovely sight of his Commodore, still dressed in his finery, sans the hat, which had been left cavalierly on the desk, going through a thick stack of paperwork (no doubt some backdated from his resignation). Thankfully, Beckett seemed preoccupied with the compass at the moment, and the disturbance (of some urchins with a suspiciously expensive dog that had somehow gotten loose in the compound) was too small a matter to be reported to Norrington. So he had a little time yet, before the tide, to look his fill.

Unfortunately, as much as Jack really wanted to walk in, slide into Norrington's lap, and kiss him silly, he knew that Beckett could find out he had been tricked at any moment, so it was best that the both of them were leaving.

He whistled. Norrington's head came up sharply, and green eyes widened in shock. "_Jack_!"

"Look what I've got," Jack said merrily, and grinned, pulling the felt bag with the heart out of his coat. The pulse was evident behind the thin cloth.

Pretty eyes were now round like saucers. "Oh, _God_. What have you _done_?"

Jack waved after making the bag disappear with graceful sleight-of-hand, intending to take a step back and bow mockingly, but instead overbalanced in his swagger and fell off the balcony. Thankfully, an unsuspecting shrubbery cushioned his fall, though there was a hiss of alarm from above, and he saw the wigged head of his Jamie looking anxiously over the rail. Jack waved, blew a kiss, and started to climb over the wall where he had come. There was a curse from upstairs, and Norrington disappeared, the sound of clattering boots suggesting that he was about to give chase.

Good, good. The Hunter had taken the bait. Jack made sure he stood in sight of the gate when Norrington emerged, fully dressed for battle, in that great big hat, Turner sword at his side, Jack's pistol in his belt, and the pirate made a great show of running away. Another curse behind him suggested that he was indeed being chased, and by a younger man with longer legs, but Jack had a lot of speed in him when he needed it, fleeing with pinwheeling arms all the way down to the jolly boat he had hidden at the shore. The _Black Pearl_ waited for him, having been brought close by Anamaria at his orders, majestic in the moonlight and the mist over the sea.

"Jack. You're insane," Norrington said, breathless from the run as he caught up and grabbed Jack's wrists. "Give it back. Then you leave, as fast as you can."

"What 'bout no?" Jack asked innocently, and then he pouted when Norrington was unmoved. "T'aint right, this, greetin' yer lover wi' shouts an' demands, an' after all th'absence, too."

Norrington groaned, exasperated. "Why couldn't you just _listen_ to instructions?"

"'Tis a mean trick ye pulled, tryin' t'manipulate old Jack wi' that letter, an' then resortin' t'bribery," Jack said playfully, wiggling his hips suggestively as he took a step into Norrington's personal space. "But I 'ad some debts t'settle."

"You're… you're insane," Norrington seemed to have run out of anything else to say, even letting Jack's wrists go, rubbing the bridge of his nose, heaving for breath. "What _am _I to do with you?" Another groan, and a glare out over the water at the waiting ship. "No suggestions from _you_ accepted."

Jack thanked Lady Luck for feeding him an inordinate number of opportune moments tonight, as he took advantage of Norrington's distraction to knock the man unconscious with a well-placed punch. Shaking the pain out of his fists, he dragged his Jamie into the boat, where Anamaria, with a deep sigh, directed the crew to help bring up the added cargo.

And not a moment too soon – shouts from the beach informed him that a patrol of redcoats were just in time to see him load their unconscious commander aboard. For good measure, Jack blew _them _a kiss, as the _Black Pearl_ weighed anchor and raced for open seas.

--

To say his Jamie was Distinctly Put Out would have been an understatement. Thankfully, Jack had thought to tie him to a chair, wrists at the back, so there was none of that unfettered violence that could have been expected, though if it were possible, that emerald glare would have left him a smoking stain on the ground. The real compass was back at his hip, and Jack had hidden the heart somewhere in the _Pearl_. Norrington's expression was stormy, and there was a distinct patch of color where the punch had landed. Poor man was going to bruise quite soon.

"Jack." Another growl. Jack had been ignoring his Jamie for a short while since he had regained consciousness, instead charting their next course on the map. He refused to talk to an angry-mad Jamie, and could wait for a more reasonable, calm one. "Let me go, Jack."

"M'sorry that I can't be doin' that, Jamie-luv," Jack finally said, placing the instruments down on the heavy desk that had once occupied the captain's cabin of the ship _Tia_. "'Cos then ye'd be makin' a right nuisance o' yerself, wantin' t'go back to Port Royal, an' terrorisin' th'new crew, no doubt."

"_Why_ in the name of all that is holy, did you have to… to… steal that from Beckett, _and_ kidnap me from Port Royal?"

"Debts t'be settled, mate," Jack smiled, sidling closer, watching as Norrington forgot to breathe momentarily. "From him t'me, an' from me t'ye."

"You don't owe me anything," Norrington's voice seemed a little higher now in pitch, and he hissed when Jack straddled his lap, resting elbows on the new, brocade coat, smudging the white breeches. "Jack. Stop this, Jack."

Further protests were muffled as Jack proceeded to, as he previously had intended to do, sit on Norrington's lap and kiss the man silly. The response was at first cool, but melted quickly into sweet, desperate passion, the longer frame all but trembling under him. So he'd been missed quite terribly, after all. He wriggled experimentally on Norrington's lap, and smiled into the next kiss. Definitely very missed.

"Change anythin'?" Jack queried, when he pulled back, admiring the flushed cheeks and the heavy panting. As an afterthought, he removed his own tricorn hat, and placed it on the table behind him.

Green eyes, however, still flashed with ire, though were now also clouded with lust. With need. "No. I demand you put me back at Port Royal."

"Sorry, mate, I stole ye fair an' square," Jack informed him, as he pushed Norrington's coat partially off, working with the cravat. "Finders keepers."

"That is an… oh God, Jack… inappropriate analogy, and you know it." A wild cast to the eyes now, as Jack finally managed to peel away all the layers of Naval finery to reveal a bare chest. More ineffective yanks at the restraints.

"Too many fancy words, mate," Jack got off his Jamie's lap to half-sprawl into it, kneeling at the side of the chair, and pressed his cheek over Norrington's heart for a moment, breathing in the scent of soap that overlapped the musk of his skin, then put his tongue to work. From the gasping moans uttered somewhere above his head, he could tell that his Jamie's body, at least, wasn't objecting, although the man kept making determined attempts to express his refusal to engage in debauchery.

"Jack, I won't do this. I can't. You don't know what it's like… _oh God_… back at Port Royal. Beckett is a tyrant, and he… _Jack, please_… has Governor Swann under some sort of hold. He's… Jack, are you _listening_?"

"M'all ears," Jack's reply was muffled as he nuzzled the dip into the navel, now on his knees between Norrington's legs, his fingers stroking the very obvious bulge, making the other man suck in his breath sharply, and choke. "Ye were sayin' that Beckett was bein' his usual charmin' self, an' 'e in effect now rules Port Royal, hmm? An' there be much sufferin' o' th'common folk, an' killin' on th'street? Put Elizabeth's old man in th'locker?"

"No," Norrington made a game effort of concentration despite the kisses being pressed to his clothed arousal, in those ridiculously tight Navy breeches. "No, that's not it."

"Since old Jack took a look 'round Port Royal, an' asked a few questions, seems the town is actually doin' better, Governor Swann is still in residence, an' 'cept fer th'power imbalance now between th' East India Tradin' Company and yer Navy, everythin's normal. Mebbe even better." Jack squeezed. Norrington arched against the chair with what was definitely a whine, booted toes pushing into the deck at either side. "Could be that ye found, what wi' all th'pirates now runnin' scared out o' Jamaica, that there was nowt that really needed yer attention, 'cept fer lots o' paper."

"That's not it, either, damnit!" Norrington managed to say, caught between struggling and pushing into Jack's grasp.

"Or ye didn't want yer da's company based so close t'home, after ye spent so long tryin' t'escape it?" Jack had managed to unlace the breeches, and he purred at the sight of the freed, flushed shaft, unable to help licking his lips. Norrington bit out a moan, edged in desperation, trying and failing to fix his gaze on the rosewood desk, the mahogany shelves, the cabin door, anywhere but Jack's expression of salacious hunger.

"N-no, that's… Jack, you're… distracting…" the rest of the protest was lost in a sweet cry as Jack swallowed him, hands keeping a hold of bucking hips. Boots kicked at the deck. Moans, the wounded-animal sounds, a pulse, and then a hoarse, "_Jack_." White heat in his throat. Jack lapped the shaft clean, then fingers, swiping at his chin. He rested his cheek on one thigh, beaded braids scattering over taut white cloth. And smirked upwards, ignoring his own visible need in the face of the opportunity to gloat. Norrington growled. "Let me go. Now."

"'Tis still 'no', mate," Jack sat back on his heels, head against the edge of the rosewood table, silver inlay a bright contrast against dark dreadlocks. "Go on."

"Some of what you said is true, but I also wished to keep an eye on his use of the heart," Norrington snapped, tried beyond his patience, struggling most prettily with the bonds, but unable to look threatening in his state of undress. "_And_ find a way to keep his attention off you until you were out of Jamaica. He doesn't want the heart, Jack. He wants your compass. That Letter of Marque isn't worth the paper it's printed on, now. Especially since you just stole from him _and_ kidnapped me."

"I knows that," Jack said, with his irrepressible grin. "Didn't want it anyway, 'ad to find an impressive enough way t'get out o' it. An' now I 'ave ship, you, _an'_ freedom."

"Unwillingly, as a captive," Norrington snarled, jerking at the ropes, refusing to acknowledge that he had just, at least for this round, been conclusively beaten by Jack Sparrow.

"Details, details."

--

Rather sulkily (Jack thought), Norrington had finally agreed to behave. Jack had played his other card – Will and 'Lizabeth likely at this moment needed him a lot more than people in Port Royal, now that his Jamie already had a sufficient gander at the situation down there, as it were. Governor Swann had been a wreck over the loss of his daughter, Norrington said, and it was likely that to remove the political foothold that Beckett had at the moment in this corner of Jamaica, so close to Kingston, it was imperative to get the couple back safe and sound. Before Beckett used the proximity of Port Royal and his effective control of it to gain mastery over both Port Royal and Kingston, and hence, trade in Jamaica.

Jack frankly didn't care all that much about that, and he wasn't sure why Norrington did, but he would have agreed to just about anything that could have made the other man stop his demands that they deliver him back to Port Royal, or any attempts to escape. And he definitely would have agreed to (likely) anything that meant that he could kiss his Jamie silly without having to tie him to a chair. It had, after all, only seemed fitting that Norrington be included in his current madcap adventure towards the Worlds' End. The _Pearl_ had rather wholeheartedly agreed.

So there was a compromise. Norrington would behave, and help, up until Will and Elizabeth were safe and sound back at Port Royal. He would be returned there with them, if he wanted, after everything. Unfortunately, at the moment, any attempts to insinuate mention of that letter, and the declaration of love, were quickly and brutally shot down with cutting wit. Jack resigned himself to giving it some time, first.

Norrington had agreed to shed wig (which now sat on Jack's desk), but not hat, due to the hot sun, but consequently also refused to remove his coat (odd, that). Jack could tell the crew was feeling nervous, watching him walk around the deck, but Anamaria had been quick to silence any muttered complaints. Jack himself stood at the helm, humming in tune to the ship (though tuneless to anybody else not privy to her song), swaying and occasionally checking his compass. It wheeled, but now, occasionally pointed at Norrington.

Interesting. Very interesting.

Jack watched as the other man stalked up to him (still rather huffy from being outmaneuvered – a poor loser, his Jamie). "Where to, Sparrow?"

It was _Sparrow_, and not Jack, at the moment, at least when they were outside his cabin. Either Norrington was attempting to get his own back in this rather mundane manner, or he was still leery of openly proclaiming their relationship in front of the rest of the crew. Despite, heh, being very vocal previously while being pleasured. Possibly the former, then. Jack decided that two could play at that game, and ignored him, looking over to where Anamaria was scaling the rigging with the grace and surefootedness of a cat.

Finally, "Captain." A pause, then much more softly, and with far more ill-grace, "Jack."

Jack turned his most winning smile on the scowling Commodore, and flailed his hands vaguely eastward. "We be payin' another visit to Tia, Norrington. Since I don't want th'heart, an' all, an' she be best placed t'take care o' it."

Norrington looked startled, and even forgot to scowl. "What? I thought you'd be all for using it. To delay pursuit from the Navy, from Beckett."

"Oh? An' ye think old Jack will 'appily, like Beckett, sink all manner o' ships that be inconveniencin' him, from far away, an' not think a whit 'bout all th'lives wot be blown t'bits or drown in th'doin' o' that? When me _Pearl_ be th'fastest ship on th'water, an' no other can catch her? All I ever wanted from th'damned thing was t'call 'im off me tail." He may indeed be a small thief, with small dreams, but he was no monster.

"It _would_ delay pursuit," Norrington said slowly, but a smile was twitching at his lips. Affectionate. Tender. "Perhaps even curtail it. And maybe even help us, wherever we're going."

"T'aint nothin' _Captain_ Jack Sparrow 'as found that wit an' 'is _Pearl_ couldn'a pull 'im out of," Jack smirked, feeling his ship purr under his hand in agreement. "The heart be safer wi' Tia, an' that's the end o' it. In case anybody 'ere suddenly 'as th'powerful temptation t'use it to nefarious ends, savvy." He had a sudden mental image of a burning mansion in Kingston, swarming with fish-men-things, and Anamaria laughing evilly at the gate. Perhaps not a nefarious end, that, but Jack had always abhorred the (unnecessary) loss of life, profit or not. Besides, Anamaria already, sometimes, scared the bejeezus out of him. No need to arm her with effective Naval control of the sea.

"I savvy, Jack," Norrington murmured, thoughtfully. Then, wryly, "You've surprised me again, I'm afraid. I can't take too much of this, you know."

"Keeps ye on yer toes, love," Jack waggled a finger at him, and coaxed his _Pearl_ to greater speed.


	11. Misappropriation is not Theft

Author's note: The issue about Norrington perhaps having a reaction to finding Ayla on board was kindly pointed out by demonqueen666. XD

Chapter 11

Misappropriation is Not Theft

Tia was so surprised at their arrival that instead of waiting for them in her tree-cottage, she was at the doorway, watching them with a frown as they rowed in. Anamaria and Ayla had been left at the _Pearl_ – Jack still didn't trust his current crew sufficiently as yet to man the ship by themselves. Norrington (still the one rowing) now wore a mismatched assortment of Naval and civilian clothing – his hat and coat, but a ruffled white shirt with horn buttons, and dark gray breeches that hugged his thighs. Expensive shirt, cravat, wig and (smudged) white breeches had been stored in Jack's cabin. He inclined his head and lifted his hat in a courtly greeting at the witch, as she hustled them inside with gestures.

"Now what youse done, Jack Sparrow?" she asked without preamble, as she sat down in her chair. "Youse be in big trouble again _already_?"

"Actually, m'just 'ere to make things up t'ye, an' then some," Jack said, and dropped the felt bag down in front of her, pleased to watch dark eyes widen in pleasant surprise, then narrow in suspicion and look to Norrington. It was sad, really, how so many people in the world thought he could be up to (so much) no good.

"Youse _stole_ it, Jack?"

"No, no. 'e delivered it, an' _then_ I stole it," Jack said quickly.

Norrington chuckled wryly, raising a hand to prevent any further harsh questioning, or the reality of voodoo dolls, pins, wax and the like. "Unfortunately, that's true, Miss Dalma. I still can't believe it myself, but somehow Jack managed to relieve the heart's latest owner of possession. And he has decided that it would be best for everyone if it fell into your safekeeping, while we go after the others."

"That be so, that be so," Tia tapped her lips, that were now curved into a grin. "Jack, our debt be paid." A look at Norrington. "Yours, too."

"An' I'd take it as a favor if ye could 'elp distract Davy Jones from followin' us," Jack suggested, again perching on the side table, though at Norrington's sideways glare, kept his hands on his lap.

Tia nodded impatiently, as if that hadn't even needed to be asked, then cocked her head when something occurred to her. "Wait. Tia think she can help you more, if youse bent on following Bootstrap's whelp."

As she retreated into a back room, muttering to herself and sorting somewhat violently through her clutter, Jack's hand stole towards a gilded peacock feather quill, and found his wrist being very firmly grasped by Norrington. A benign smile dared him to try further thievery. Jack pouted, even as, blocked by his body, his other hand slipped a ruby brooch into his coat.

A slight shake of his head, and Norrington sighed. "Jack." The brooch was replaced, with resignation. The other man was getting better at watching him.

Tia eventually emerged with what looked like an odd necklace – a heavy silver teardrop at the end of a fine steel chain. There was an odd engraving on both sides of the pendant that Jack couldn't quite make out, from this distance. Tia pushed much of the paraphernalia on her table to the side, ignoring the little crow's skull that fell and rolled away, and opened a stained, ancient map of the lands, pinning it down with an ornate silver hourglass and a bone china teacup. "This be showing ye where they are." She held the bob over the map, and it swirled in a lazy circle, before pointing unerringly at Recife.

Jack frowned. "Barbossa plans t'cross th'Atlantic."

"Why?" Norrington blinked, as another thought occurred to him. "_Where_ is 'World's End'?"

"It be an island, east o' Canton," Jack said absently, as kohl-rimmed eyes traced the route he knew his traitorous ex-First Mate would take. "An' its port, at th'mouth to the actual place, be a base o' operations o' the pirates o' that area. Sort o' like Tortuga, but less friendly. They 'ave another name fer it in their lingo, but Lee said it did roughly translate to 'World's End'."

"And I am to believe that Davy Jones put his soul on a… a… Cathay pirate island?" Norrington asked incredulously, apparently willing, for the sake of argument and in face of the existence of the beating heart in the bag, to suspend all further problems he had with physical manifestations of souls.

"Davy Jones, he use magic, raise an islands, and put a ring of rocks around it. Past the port, dat lead t'the land in the center, an' there he put his soul, guarded by giant serpent." Tia explained, slowly, as if to a child, as if it really should all make perfect sense. "For soul an' heart an' body to separate, heart an' soul cannot touch the sea. Heart in Jamaica, soul in Cathay."

"So Barbossa is likely goin' t'lead them from Recife to Jamestown. An' then t'Capetown through th'Indies." It was a route they had taken before, what with the jaunts around the East Indies, but Jack had always preferred Jamaica (paradise on earth, mate). That, and Bootstrap got terribly gloomy on transatlantic voyages, thinking about his gel in England and whatnot, enough to drive another man mad.

Norrington shook his head slowly; awed at the route that Jack had just sketched. Likely it would be the furthest from Port Royal, or England, that the man would ever be in his life. Tia handed the pirate the chain, and he experimentally let it swing from his fingers. Still at Recife, of course. "Even assuming we survive and can somehow finance our journey all the way to Canton and back, how in God's name are we going to… to…" A short, exasperated sound. "It's madness. Pure, unadulterated, madness."

"Aye, mate. An' yer lookin' at just the cap'n fer it."

--

Jack sat on a yard, high above his _Pearl_, back against the mast, whistling tunelessly to himself as he followed the circling flight of gulls far above him. He'd told his crew where he was headed, and had offered to drop those who didn't want to follow him off at Tortuga. The _Pearl_, eager to do the crossing (so much open sea to fly on), had complained that he was sailing in circles and wasting time, but it seemed only fair. Their next stop would be Barbados, after all, and it could be a mite harder for landbound pirates to find work there as compared to Tortuga. At the moment, however, the crew seemed interested enough in his talk of a venture to exotic Cathay, so it looked as though he wouldn't have to make a round trip.

Ayla, however, was another matter. Jack felt it would be a huge inconvenience to bring her along (despite her cooking), but it would also be as large an inconvenience if Anamaria were to elect to stay behind with her. The next person on the ship most qualified to fill her position was Norrington, and he was definitely not first mate material, having been in a position of final command for too long. However, and again out of the irrational sense of fairness (and fear of Anamaria's quick knife), he'd left them to talk it over themselves, and secluded himself quickly up on the foremast.

He remembered wryly the moment when Norrington had realized they had another woman on board, and a pregnant one, at that. The sharp, accusing look, the thinning lips. Still didn't trust him, his Jamie. What was worse, he'd been left to defend himself, while ship, Anamaria and even _Ayla_, damnit, took the rare opportunity to laugh at old Jack. Only when Anamaria had managed to stop laughing had she explained, with a toss of her head, what had happened in Kingston. Jack's dramatic performance as the wounded, misunderstood lover had at least worked on the person it was meant for – the pirate smiled faintly as he recalled how Norrington had made it up to him, later, when they were alone.

The sound of straining rope and muttered oaths, and a creak of wood as weight settled near him informed Jack that Norrington had also climbed up onto the yard, and had settled on the opposite side. Jack offered him the compass, not looking to see if he took it. "M'been thinkin'."

"Hmm?" Norrington accepted it, the weight lifted from his fingers. There was the clean snap of the compass being opened.

"Whether I should be extendin' th' offer to drop those who don't want t'come along t'ye."

A soft inhalation of breath, then, wryly, "Are you _sure_ you're Captain Jack Sparrow? I'm feeling quite overwhelmed by all this sense of fair play today, as is the rest of your crew."

"T'will be a hard journey, mate," Jack continued watching the flight of the gulls, ignoring the playful jibe. "Th'last time me an' Barbossa an' Bootstrap crossed it, we lost many men. To th'sea, Navy, other people's Navy, other pirates, an' such. T'was great fun an' all, stealin' off wi' ye an' runnin' around th'Caribbees, but… goin' t'the World's End, 'tis a big risk I'm askin' anybody comin' wi' me t'take. An' ye'd be gone a long time, from Port Royal."

"Jack." Norrington snapped the compass shut. "The compass. In my hands, it still points to you." A soft chuckle edged with self-mockery. "_Always_ to you. So. I profess that I am glad now that you… ah… persuaded me to come along on your venture. As selfish as it is of myself, to be glad that it is so. So that I can be with you, at least until the Turners are safe. Be here to protect you." A snort. "Besides, a cursory glance at your route indicates that much of it will have to go through ports and territories controlled by the East India Trading Company. And no doubt you know where my father is stationed."

"We won't be goin' through Bombay, if I can 'elp it," Jack said quickly, though a warm glow suffused him at the confession. "I ain't got that much love fer th'Company. M'thinkin', we go from Victoria t' Colombo."

"Where the _Dutch_ East India Company is stationed," Norrington replied tartly. "In Bombay, at least there'd be suppliers who understand _English_. And if your ship is as fast as you say, perhaps they would not have received word about the likely renouncing of your Letter of Marque."

"An' what makes ye think m'don't speak Dutch?" Jack asked innocently. Actually, he didn't, but it was so fun throwing the Commodore off balance. He grinned when Norrington looked around the mast to frown at him. "M' the Captain o' th'_Pearl_, Jamie-luv. Means I be decidin' where we go, no questions."

"I know that," Norrington said irritably, "That's why I chose to climb up here to talk to you about it. Where your crew won't hear me disagreeing with you."

"And ye be feelin' free to disagree wi' me, even though I'm th'Captain?"

The irritation turned into a sly grin that made Jack instantly wary. "I don't know, Jack, about that Captaincy issue," A slender hand patted the mast, as if affectionately. "Your _Pearl_ is very fond of me."

Jack's mouth fell open. "Ye _wouldn't_." He poked at the dark wood. "Missy…" Unfortunately, at that moment, the _Pearl_ chose simply to laugh at him. She was as cruel a wench as he'd ever known, she was!

And he had to content himself with glaring at Norrington, who was leaning against the mast and laughing so hard that he ended up choking and coughing. "Jack. I wouldn't do that. You don't need to worry." A smirk. "Your _Pearl_ would object to being repainted in Navy colors."

"An' what be the point o' laughin' at old Jack, then?" Jack asked sulkily.

"Your ego sometimes needs deflating," Norrington replied dryly. "And I wanted you to take me seriously. About our route."

"If we cross t'Capetown wi' no incident, ye can talk to me there 'bout it again," Jack offered, a compromise. He was getting better at handling Commodores.

"I will." Acceptance, and a warning – he wouldn't be so easily pushed aside the next time.

--

To his great relief, Anamaria elected to stay. "I owes you big, Jack," she said, folding her arms. "Ye want t'run off t'the other end o'the world, m'comin' wi' ye t'make sure ye stay out o' too much trouble."

"Then Ayla?" Jack glanced at the other woman, who stood behind her sister.

"If not fer the child, I would go," Ayla said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I too, owe ye a debt."

"But dat's a problem, Jack," Anamaria said, with a frown. "I don't know where t'leave Ayla, an' Tortuga be too dangerous fer her."

"Perhaps we could prevail on Miss Dalma to have her sent to Port Royal," Norrington suggested, meeting Anamaria's glare unflinchingly (she was still jumpy around him, almost out of habit, perhaps, despite having nominally accepted him so far as part of the crew and Jack's lover). "I could write a letter that would get her employed by my housekeeper, or by Governor Swann. It'd also serve to inform him that I was not, in fact, kidnapped. Perhaps it would at the very least throw things into confusion." A grimace. Evidently, the Commodore wasn't looking forward to sorting out _that _mess when he went back.

"Beckett be in Port Royal," Anamaria spat the name.

"And why would he concern himself with her or know who she is, if she arrives discreetly? I am sure that he does not inquire too closely about people of colour, who arrive looking for work."

"An' Port Royal be real close to Kingston…" Anamaria said hesitantly, her resolve obviously wavering under the assault of gentle reasoning.

"I'd be surprised if 'e chases ye t'Port Royal, an' 'Lizabeth's da' be outrankin' him," Jack said, a little doubtfully. He wasn't worried about the young Lord, but Beckett. If Beckett somehow found out about the arrival, and decided to use Ayla as a bargaining chip, that would pull in Anamaria, which would definitely involve Jack. However, as Norrington had stated, it seemed unlikely that he would. And the letter could help stave off Naval pursuit, and perhaps even put Governor Swann's fears to rest a little. "But it all depends on whether ye wish t'do it," he added finally, looking to Ayla.

"I will. It's the best." Ayla smiled somewhat wearily, without mirth. "Though it be so close t'Kingston."

"Aye, but it need only be 'till we get back. Then ye can choose yer port o' choice," Jack offered generously. _If we get back in one piece_.

"Awlright."

Tia Dalma had agreed easily enough, albeit with sarcastic jibes as to Jack's need to stop relying on her for contingencies, but he decided to leave with the morning tide, reading Anamaria's signal for more time and consenting with a slight nod. Dinner that night was especially sumptuous.

--

'_To Governor Swann,_

_ I entrust this letter's carrier to your safekeeping, and apologize beforehand as to the inconvenience and the strangeness of the situation. Miss Ayla Sawyer is an acquaintance of Jack Sparrow's, and she is with child. Also, there are some complications with the father of the child – apparently someone of noble blood in Kingston, of which she would no doubt explain in detail by herself. Please ensure that she is employed in honest work, until I return to sort it out._

_ It would interest you to know that despite the dramatic nature of my departure, I am safe and am not sailing on the Pearl against my will. Sparrow feels that he owes your daughter and her fiancé a debt, and he intends to pursue them and bring them back home. As such, I too feel honor bound to aid him. In return, I would appreciate it greatly if you were to thwart Lord Beckett's attempts to displace the balance of power in Port Royal, or at least delay it until my return, upon bringing your daughter home or news of her. It would also aid us greatly if you could somehow find a way to delay news spreading about the invalidity of Jack Sparrow's Letter of Marque. _

_Sincerely,_

James Norrington P.S The stack of completed paperwork on my desk in the office marked 'Kingston' is to be sent to Lieutenant Rainer in Kingston, before the week is out. The drafted script under that only needs some linguistic correction, and your signature and seal – assuming of course that you approve of the modifications to the fort cannons. The declaration for the expansion of the widow's fund should also be on the desk, that too requires your signature. The forms regarding credit over Naval fittings are in my home, and the completed ones are to be put on the next courier ship to England, for Admiral Tayne – please request that either Lieutenant Stoner or Lord Beckett finish the others. The sealed missives in my desk drawer are to be sent to… ' 

(At this part, it appeared that there was a struggle – blobs of ink and quill scratches marred the paper. It continued in a different, more florid hand)

'_To Governor Swann,_

_ How's it going?_

_ Don't worry your wigged head, mate. We be getting Lizabeth and Will back, easy. I expect to have an invite to the wedding, and cake. And rum, remember the rum. Help us look after Ayla, she be a great cook. We'd be looking after the Commodore in turn, as you can tell he really, really needs a vacation. _

_Captain Jack Sparrow_

_PS Anybody tell you that the wig makes you look old? And it must be bloody hot.' _

Governor Swann looked up from the slightly crumpled missive, at the shy, nervous girl before him with the obvious swell in her belly, and sighed ruefully. "Thank you, Miss Sawyer. You have no idea how much of a weight you have just taken off my mind. I'd see to it that you get employment at my… my residence, for as long as you wish."

As she was led away by his new butler, for the first time since Elizabeth had left after that Turner boy, Governor Swann could not help but smile faintly at the first postscript, and then at the second part of the letter. It was true. James certainly did need a vacation.

--

"What are we doing here, Jack?" Norrington looked distinctly out of place in the tavern, despite having consented to wearing full civilian clothing. Jack had tried convincing him not to come along for this very reason (that, and his Jamie looked so adorable in his russet-brown coat with bronze buttons, cream shirt and dark blue trousers, hair tied into a tail with a ribbon under a tan-brown tricorn hat, not a strand out of place, that it was getting right distracting), but no… Commodores, even kidnapped, newly reinstated ones, were _so _demanding.

They were in one of Barbados' cheap Irish taverns (The Blue Lassie), and around them the indentured servants to the island's sugarcane plantations who were lucky enough to receive pay were drinking it down their sunburned throats, talking to each other drunkenly in heavily accented English, or in a lingo that Jack vaguely understood. Thankfully, none of the workers were looking for trouble – looking far too weary from their grueling day work, here only to drink and briefly feel human again. Jack knew how that felt. But he also knew that drink loosened men's tongues, and even men one step above being slaves liked to talk – and he needed to confirm some gossip that he had heard around the harbor.

"I was thinkin'," Jack murmured, as he took a sip of his extremely watered down ale with a grimace, "O' th'way we were goin' t'finance our little trip, mate."

"By drinking our money away in seedy dives?" No faith in him at all, his Jamie. Terrible.

"No, no. I was thinkin' o' tradin'. See, Jamie-luv, Jamaica is known fer exportin' sugar, m'right? An' where else close t'get sugar at th'moment than Barbados?"

Norrington was silent as he digested this, his hat dipping. "And how do you suggest we acquire a cargo of sugar? You have no credentials, and we have no money."

"I'm a pirate, mate," Jack said mildly, "'ow'd ye suggest I lay me hands on some sugar?"

Norrington's pretty green eyes widened, and then narrowed dangerously. "Sparrow… you know I can't condone any acts of piracy in my presence."

"'Tis why I asked ye t'wait on th'ship, love," Jack pouted. "Anamaria be so much better company at this. But d'ye 'ave any better ideas, mate? As ye said, m_'Pearl _an' I 'ave no credentials, bein' of a piratical sort. An' yer family name ain't known in th'Carribees as it may be in India, an' nobody's going t'believe th'Commodore o' Jamaica suddenly feels th'powerful urge t'transport sugar, so…"

"Uh… no." The man even had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "I confess that I am at a loss."

"'Sides, m'going t'be stealin' from East India Company stock, if I can," Jack murmured, playing with his beaded beard. "So, ye can always send back some of yer cut to yer da', in th'future, if it bothers ye that much."

"That would be playing with fire, Jack," Norrington said, warningly, "Since your course seems to depend on passing Jamestown. _And_ Canton. East India Company territories."

"Ain't nobody goin' t'beat me _Pearl_ at speed enough t'tell them we be sellin' them their own goods, mate," Jack smiled wickedly. Norrington groaned, dipping his head again. Too adorable. It was a good thing Jack had already overheard, even while speaking with his Commodore, gossip over cargo deadlines and ship arrivals – even if the information was likely to be at least third hand.

--

A few more discreet enquiries around town, and Jack knew what was likely the best way to go out stealing himself a cargo of raw sugar, as well as the ships that he should do it from. As they rested at a bench under a shady palm and watched the bustling commerce of the main street, Jack asked, "'ow're ye feelin' 'bout dressin' back up in yer Navy togs, Jamie-luv?"

Norrington arched an eyebrow at him. "I do believe you were the one to point out that, the further we got from Port Royal, the more people only remember the clothes, and not the man, and we needed to get around unnoticed." Another pause, then more suspiciously, "Is this yet another of your bedroom games, Jack?"

"Now that's an' idea," Jack smirked, but continued before Norrington could shoot down the issue, as much as he didn't exactly object to the playing of… bedroom games… when they were alone in Jack's cabin. "Actually, I was thinkin' in th'way o' wearin' it out here. A diversion."

"And does this have anything to do with nefarious plans of stealing sugar from the Company that employs members of my family?" Norrington drawled.

"Mebbe." Jack looked innocent. At the Commodore's rapidly darkening expression, he added winsomely, "Jamie. All ye 'ave t'do is dress up, an' walk wi' me somewhere. An' then, all ye 'ave to do is talk t'someone until m'ready t'go. No trouble, no shootin', no random hurtin' o' children or small animals. Promise."

"And what am I supposed to talk to this person about?" Norrington asked wearily.

"Anythin'. Yer th'Commodore, m'sure ye can come up wi' somethin'."

"Who are you speaking of?"

"Oh, just th'harbormaster, mate. Or whoever it is on this island wot arranges cargo loadin'."

"I admit to retaining moral reservations about theft, or indeed, in aiding and abetting theft."

"Ye can forward yer percentage o' th'profit t'yer da', then," Jack reminded him, wheedling. "An' it won't really be theft, it'd more be like causin' an' encouragin' a misunderstandin'."

"You're a thorough scoundrel, Jack," Norrington sighed. "And God help me for agreeing to this, but I do have no other ideas."

"Great! Let's get started." Jack clapped his hands, and swung to his feet, swaying a little.

"However," Norrington continued, as though he hadn't heard, "After our venture, I expect us to return the gross value of the sugar to whichever merchant you have picked as your victim, Jack. Back here in Barbados."

"Mate, that sugar was made wi' slave labor," Jack pointed out, "'ow's yer moral reservations feel 'bout deepenin' the pockets o' some rich farmer even further?"

Norrington frowned, "I don't like the idea of slavery. However, I do have definite reservations about you reaping the profits, when you haven't even contributed in any way as to the creation of the sugar."

They could likely argue about this all day. It was lucky that nobody on the street seemed remotely interested in two sailors lounging in the sun, because their topic of conversation was getting fairly dangerous. Jack sighed. "Awlright, mate. When we come back, we donate the gross profit t'the contribution o' some fund fer the wee blighters burnin' out in th'fields. Mebbe build them another tavern, wi' better drink. Happy?"

"We have an accord," Norrington said, if doubtfully.

--

"Commodore Norrington! What an honor! What a surprise!" the harbormaster, as Jack had predicted, was all but falling over himself in shock when his Jamie introduced himself. The uniform had been cleaned to the best it could be on a pirate ship, but the smudged breeches and coat seemed to draw no comment. The fat man was breaking out into a sweat, mopping at his brow with a large handkerchief, belly almost spilling out from behind his vest. "What brings you here?"

"I've heard rumors that pirates intend to conduct raids on sugar cargo, and so I've decided to make some… discreet enquiries, with regards to the ships that may be leaving Barbados within the week," Norrington said, in his voice of cool command. "If you would be so kind, my manservant here would like to peruse your records and files, while I ask a few further questions."

Manservant indeed. Jack grit his teeth under the wide-brimmed hat and heavy coat that Anamaria had lent him, promising silently that there would be a reckoning. The clothes were too small for him, but he'd needed to hide his own costume, which made him look too noticeable. However, he'd nodded servilely as the fat man handled him records of cargo, and even some paper and a quill, and he wrote some things down absently to make the dissimulation seem less obvious.

In the meantime, his Jamie engaged the harbormaster in a remarkable repertoire of topics regarding the sugar trading routes, and with the man's attention elsewhere, Jack made some minor adjustments to docking and cargo loading forms. For good measure, he even managed to pocket a bag of coins, no doubt bribes, left carelessly in an unlocked drawer of the desk he was writing on.

He signaled when he was done, bobbing and bowing to the harbormaster, handing Norrington the sheet of paper with the scrawled words, which his Jamie quickly put into his coat before the man could see it. There were a few more rounds of exchanged pleasantries, and then they were back out in the sun.

Norrington was trying very hard to hold down a smirk, as they managed to elude Navy patrols and get back onto the _Pearl_ without any shouts of recognition. Jack grinned impishly at him. "Fun, innit?"

"No, Jack. Stealing is not meant to be fun," Norrington said sternly, though his green eyes were twinkling merrily. "And it certainly was not. Fun."

"That so," Jack smirked. Pirate enough in his Commodore, as much as the man would deny it.

Norrington had taken the paper out of his coat, snorting as he looked over it again. "Really, Jack. What do you think would have happened if the harbormaster had seen this?"

"We could 'ave said t'was in code," Jack said innocently. The note had contained several very scandalous suggestions as to the issue of dressing up in 'bedroom games', as Norrington had put it, including the use of rigging and/or the cannon chains. And the brig, don't forget the brig.

The other man rolled his eyes, but glanced over the harbor towards the distance, at rolling, flat hills dusted in plantation squares. "I may however be amenable to some of the ideas. With sufficient persuasion, of course."

"Of course," Jack purred, his self-congratulation over the heist forgotten.

--

They had only needed to wait a day, before, all officiously, Jack signed 'Jack Smith' in a flourish on documents from waiting men, as crates were loaded aboard his _Pearl_. Norrington, in civilian's clothing, had hidden himself in the cabin, under mutual agreement that it would be the safest, in case anybody noticed him, or if the harbormaster showed up. And therefore, he wasn't around to notice that Jack had not only misappropriated sugar, but also much in the way of supplies, water and a small crate of silver bars, tradable in Canton.

Stealing in an increasingly bureaucratic system was far, far too easy.


	12. Simplicity

Author's Note: The voyage all the way to Canton is going to be vaguely detailed and likely historically inaccurate. Was greatly tempted to write a Singapore chapter, since it was just National Day a few days ago, but there was far too much hilarity when discussing it with (other Singaporean) friends, so I don't think I can handle it. I believe at one point, someone suggested that Jack Sparrow fight a Merlion. I spent a lot of time trying to decide whether crossing the Pacific was faster (or even possible at that point in time), but what with the Suez and Panama canals still not in existence, and other historical problems, I decided Jack would likely prefer to take the long cruise with James, in any case.

Chapter 12

Simplicity

"I would have thought all of your crew would want to have shore leave before we attempt the Atlantic," Norrington murmured as they headed away from the harbor. It had required the use of quite a bit of the money Jack had stolen from the harbormaster in Barbados to bribe the one here to ignore their suspicious presence in what was effectively Portuguese territory, and allow them to dock in a quiet bit of the growing harbor. Perhaps the money wouldn't even have been enough, if not for the fact that Anamaria spoke fluent Portuguese – the man hadn't been impressed by the Portuguese colors they had run (all purchased from Tortuga) or even the fact that they had (apparently) legitimate cargo.

"Yer concerned wi' th'mental health o' some old sea dogs now, mate?" Jack asked, swaggering down the paved street, hips swaying. The Portuguese town looked a lot like Barbados, being also based on the sugar trade, except with far more black slaves than indentured Irishmen. The harbor, too, was much larger and busier, being often the last port of call before and after the Dark Continent – when they had docked, strings of dirty, underfed men of color, shackled together, were being processed through paperwork. He knew where Barbossa had likely gone before he left for Jamestown, and he needed some information.

"I meant your first mate, actually," Norrington absently sidestepped to give way to a middle-class woman on her way to the healthy fish market close to the harbor. He had been nervous when they'd docked, but when no Portuguese soldiers or civilians seemed to recognize him, he had calmed down somewhat.

"Oh, _Anamaria_." Jack stopped briefly, to dodge a horse-drawn cart of barrels roped together – the driver cursed at them sharply in Portuguese. "This place, bad memories fer her. She was born here, in th'planations. An' her parents, see, they couldn'a keep an' hide two gels, so they sold her when she was still a wee 'un." A smile that bared his teeth. "To th'largest brothel in town."

Norrington blinked, his lips moving as he tried to come up with any sort of appropriate answer to that sort of revelation. "She's come a long way," he said, finally, further curiosity likely stifled by propriety. Jack approved – there was no pity, or disgust in that cultured voice, only respect. On the way to Recife, Norrington had at least gained Anamaria's total acceptance, more via working under her orders without comment or question, as compared to any aid lent to her sister, or the open secret of his relationship with Jack.

"Aye, that she has," Jack allowed a note of pride to show in his voice, as he lithely leaped to the side, avoiding dirty water being dumped onto the grimy street from somewhere above them. The smell of the sea and the refuse that people dumped into it receded a little as they passed into the market square, replaced by the warm stink of animals and the heavy scent of spices. The press of bodies didn't inconvenience the relatively slightly built pirate, who had to occasionally wait until Norrington, muttering some choice curses, could squeeze past to him. He purchased some fragrant pie (probably chicken), with eloquent gestures and the jingle of coins, which they shared, rather messily, taking a breather in a corner next to a shop that sold all manner of handmade ceramic pots.

Norrington was studying one of the buildings visible over the tide of people with absent curiosity, issues of Anamaria's past forgotten – a synagogue, with its distinctive windows – curved at the top, squared at the bottom, like the tablets of Moses, the white sills a stark contrast against red brick. "Remarkable."

"We're not 'ere fer th'sightseein' tour," Jack tugged at the sleeve of his dark coat. He was certainly not interested in going near that particular building, after his last… incident here. It had really been a misunderstanding, too, that. Who would have thought that people would make elaborate, golden chests for purely religious purposes that had nothing to do with containing shiny treasure? It shouldn't be allowed, with unsuspecting pirates around.

"I suppose not," Norrington agreed with some reluctance, glancing down at Jack, and his expression turned wicked briefly, leaning down to flick his tongue at some gravy that spotted Jack's palm. And smirked.

"Mate, if we weren't in a hurry now…" Jack began to hiss, then paused. Actually, the place they were going right now could be pretty useful, for activities previously not considered. He returned the smirk. Norrington's disappeared, to be replaced by apprehension.

--

"I am. Not. Going. In there." Norrington enunciated each word with careful, cold precision.

Jack re-evaluated some of his conclusions about potential secret lives of repressed Commodores, and tried his most winning smile. "'Tis only fer a chat wi' th'Ma'm o' th'place, Jamie-luv. _An'_ ye said ye wanted t'accompany old Jack on his business in this fair city, instead o' bein' th'gentleman and remainin' on board wi' Anamaria, left on th'ship all by her ownsies wi' only a few hung over scallywags fer company."

Norrington's (very kissable) mouth worked, as he looked across the street at the 'building', as though it offended him personally. Which it likely did. The _Silken Scarf_ dominated the red light district of Recife – a converted ship, painted in maroon, black and gold, its figurehead leaving no doubt as to the nature of the, ah, establishment, supported by stylized struts engraved with figures in racy positions. Burly bouncers stood impassively at the entrance, set in the hull, watching the street. Inside, it looked as though the party hadn't started as yet – it was still late afternoon.

It was also, rather obviously, converted from a British Naval ship. Its original name hadn't been painted over, and was obvious for all on the street to see. The _H.M.S Reprisal_. Jack, Barbossa and Bootstrap had thought the irony positively hilarious, so many years ago, when they'd visited Recife on a stopover before the Atlantic. Norrington, however…

"Jack." The smooth voice was deeply aggrieved. More strangled sounds.

"M'goin' in," Jack said, sauntering to the entrance. "Ye can go back t'the _Pearl_ if ye like."

Footsteps informed him, once he was next to the bouncers, that Norrington had chosen with much ill-grace, to accompany him. Jack smiled to himself. The bouncers didn't seem to notice the subtext, or were ignoring it. One of them spoke gruffly in Portuguese, no doubt informing them that they were closed, and to come back later.

"M'not here fer entertainment at yer lovely establishment, mate," Jack said, swaying on his feet as he gestured expansively at the hull. Part of the keel had been cunningly sawed away, such that the ship could give the semblance of 'floating' on the street. He had been here before, and he knew that the mistress of the Silken Scarf tended to like multilingual staff – Recife was the port of choice for any buccaneers who felt like taking a trip to the Indies, Portuguese or not. "Ye can tell th'Ma'm that Captain Jack Sparrow be wantin' t'talk t'her. Friend," he added, when the bouncers seemed to frown in tandem. Come to think of it, they rather looked like brothers.

They spoke in low tones to each other for a moment, and then one of them disappeared into the dimly lit interior. The other spoke curtly in heavily accented English. "Wait here."

Jack watched the street, glad that it was empty at this point in the day and that the bouncer seemed the totally incurious type (good for working at an established brothel). Norrington's tightly reined outrage was very apparent in his flashing eyes, and the firmly set jaw. Jack sighed, knowing he had to defuse it before Norrington met the Ma'm, or sparks would fly. "Jamie-luv."

Norrington looked at him, then back at the ship, then at the cobblestones, and took a few deep breaths. As Jack watched, that considerable self-control reasserted itself, and the anger faded away, to be evident only in the thin cast to the lips. When he spoke again, his voice was smooth, wry. "I did the paperwork for this ship. Missing in action. It was one of the first cases of the sort I processed when I arrived in Port Royal. Left over from my predecessor – he was more interested in doing nominal work and spending the rest of his time visiting his mistress than actually fulfilling his duty."

"Small world, mate," Jack patted his arm. "Leastways ye can close that bit o' form now, mm?"

Norrington stared at him, then chuckled helplessly. "I don't think I'm up to updating 'Missing in Duty – Lost at Sea' to 'Somehow converted into a whorehouse'."

"Barbossa did ask her how she did it, but we didn'a get any believable answers," Jack offered. It was one of the mysteries of Recife, and definitely the one mystery that gave him the most personal amusement.

Before Norrington could reply, the other bouncer reappeared. "Ma'm will see you now."

--

The reception area behind the door was lit only by the heavily gilt decorated portholes in the side that definitely hadn't been there when the ship was, well, still a ship. There was a heavily decorated desk manned by a sleepy-looking woman of color, who didn't even give them a second glance, occupied as she was in sorting out a very thick ledger. Thick plants provided an earthy odor to the room, placed tastefully between cushioned seats. The ground was covered in cheap rugs that only nominally resembled Persian ones, marked with stains from boots that hadn't been adequately wiped clean at the doormat.

The bouncer led them up carpeted stairs, the slightly discolored red fabric held in place by heavy 'gold' rods. The next floors below deck were of reconstructed, stylized cabins. The deck was decorated for open-air revelry, and the bar at the stern was slowly being set up under the direction of a heavyset man by women and men of assorted ages, tables and chairs still stacked to the corner, the ground still being swept. Tarpaulin in case of rougher weather was neatly rolled at the helm. Some of the women (and men, Jack noticed with annoyance) shot them curious glances, those of frank interest especially lingering on the striking figure that Norrington cut. Jack, feeling somewhat possessive, had to restrain himself from putting a hand on the other man's arm as they approached the captain's cabin.

Norrington made a soft, inarticulate sound of irritation as they were ushered in. The cabin was as gaudily decorated as the rest of the ship, except that the carpets seemed to be real Persian, and assorted furs covered the couches and chairs. The scent of incense was heavy in the air, along with expensive, delicate perfumes. The four-poster bed occupied one corner, thickly curtained. A Navy-issue map was framed on one side, next to a porthole – the curtain was a frayed British flag, likely taken from the mast and converted.

The Ma'm was perched on the table, the papers on it showing that she had been engaged in the more mundane aspect of her occupation before they had arrived. The worn, ageing face had not yet been painted for the evening, showing wrinkles and crow's feet starkly in the afternoon sunlight, the hollows in her cheek pronounced in shadow, the hard cast to her features deeply ingrained. Graying, mouse brown hair had been tied back into a stern bun, and she was dressed in a heavy maroon robe embroidered with gold thread, under which pink silk-slippered feet could be seen. Years ago, Jack had thought her a beauty (if not really his type) – time had not been kind. Her smile, however, hadn't changed – amused, sharp, and catlike. "I should have known you'd show up eventually, Jack Sparrow, when Barbossa did." Her Portuguese accent was thick, but only made her seem exotic. "I'm only surprised you didn't arrive together."

"Aye, we've 'ad a disagreement in th'past," Jack said, his tone making it clear that he didn't want to discuss it.

The Ma'm's eyes slid over Norrington, looking him up and down brazenly, thoughtfully. His Jamie's cheeks colored, his lips formed a flat line of annoyance, and he looked away, out of the porthole, keeping his furious silence. She chuckled, her tone a little envious. "You have such interesting lovers, Jack."

Jack smirked, shrugging a shoulder fluidly. "Luck favors me. Now, Barbossa, what did 'e talk to ye about?"

She held out a lacy, gloved hand, palm up. Jack put some stolen coin in it, which was pocketed quickly. "He was headed to the Indies. To Canton." Pursed lips. "He knew you would come here, and ask after him. He said you may catch up with them at Seychelles, or at Madras if you make good time, but they'd only wait for you at Canton. For two weeks. If you haven't found them by then they will finish the matter themselves."

Barbossa knew him too well, and Tia had likely informed him that he was alive. Very interesting. "Did he bring anybody here wi' him?"

"No," she said, eyes unfocused as she recalled prior conversations. "But he mentioned having a pair of whelps on board who were extremely irritating, and something about keeping your secret. That was really about all he told me. Afterwards…" A pause, then a wicked, saucy grin. "Jack, since when did Hector develop an… obsession with apples?"

"I don't want to hear anythin' 'bout that," Jack said hurriedly. "An' I don't know, but it t'aint me fault." So, Will and 'Lizabeth were still alive, but didn't know that he was. And Barbossa was definitely no longer of the undead persuasion.

She laughed, and leaned back, out of habit moving such that her cleavage seemed fuller. "Anything else you want to know? Or would you like to do business? Buy a room? A girl? Another boy? Both?" A provocative glance at Norrington, who was still looking out of the porthole – though the temperature seemed to drop several degrees. "I'm sure that you and your lover…"

"We're fine, thanks," Jack cut in quickly, before the unfettered violence did. "Though… yer offer of a room…"  
"Jack. No." A growl.

"Why not?" Jack asked, playfully. "There be hot baths here, even."

"If…" a deep, controlled breath, and a glare. "If you insist on staying in this… this _place_, I am returning to the ship." Norrington leaned in, to murmur harshly into Jack's ear. "And then there will be no debauchery of any sort, in any form, until we reach Capetown. And maybe even after."

Now that was a big enough threat to give him pause. Jack's smile faltered. Then he leaned back, waving a finger under Norrington's nose, about to object. At the other man's raised eyebrow of challenge, Jack gave in, instead turning back to the Ma'm. "I guess we be turnin' down yer invitation, then. Thanks fer yer time."

"Give my regards to Anamaria," the Ma'm said, in a tone without inflexion, as she turned back to the paperwork, waving them away.

--

Norrington only calmed down when they were out of the red light district, leaning against a brick wall warmed from the sun and taking deep, slow breaths. Jack waited patiently, looking around over narrow streets packed with houses, and over beyond at the rolling hills of plantations, encroaching on the thick rainforests. Finally, there was a muttered, "I need a drink."

"M'know just th'place, mate," Jack said brightly. He hadn't been looking forward to accompanying an annoyed Norrington back to the ship, wasting the rest of their shore leave, as charming as his _Pearl_ was. There would soon be far too much ship and sea, up until they reached Jamestown, and again up until Capetown. As it were, two members of his crew had informed him that they didn't feel up to it after all, and were leaving to try and make their way back to another port.

More weaving through half-remembered alleys, with only a few wrong turns, and they reached a rowdy gambling den, the scent of rum thicker than that of unwashed bodies, the sea, and city effluences. They managed to find a table at the side, away from the cleared center, where men were crowded against a raised platform, watching two roosters that were but blurs of red and iridescent green, the cockspurs gleaming in the lamplight. There was roar from the crowd was one of the small knives scored on a wing, blood spraying the sand.

Waitresses brought them tankards rum efficiently under request, with a curt string of Portuguese, probably regarding how to bet. Jack wasn't interested, however, instead savoring the rum – likely the best in this corner of the Atlantic. Norrington was watching the animals fight with a sort of fascinated horror. "They tie spikes to their legs." The wounded bird shrieked.

"Aye. Ye can bet, but m'not sure 'ow to," Jack replied, leaning back on the wooden chair with a sigh of satisfaction. "M'don't care either. Good rum." Strong rum, at that – deceptively strong under the smooth taste. Tipsy men bet more, which meant a larger cut for the establishment. Norrington didn't seem to notice, swallowing a large gulp of his with ease (perhaps too much time spent in Tortuga).

"Theft, visiting a brothel, and now a gambling house," Norrington recounted wryly, "Where next, Jack? An opium den? An assassin's club?"

"Don't know any assassin clubs, mate," Jack grinned, "But ye might want t'ask Beckett's secretary, whats-'is-face."

"Mr. Mercer," Norrington supplied absently, wincing when another arc of red decorated the ground. "Jack, this is barbaric."

"T'aint nowt worse than yer foxhuntin', mate. 'Cept it's two birds tearin' at each other rather than lots o' dogs goin' at a fox." Jack took another deep, appreciative gulp of his rum. "An' I did say, t'aint th'fightin' I come 'ere fer."

The birds didn't appear to be much more than very bloody animated feathers, now, though one was clearly losing – both wings drooped, though the yellow beak was open in furious defiance. Norrington looked away, and drained his tankard. A gesture at the watchful waitresses, and it was silently and efficiently refilled. "Good rum," he admitted, finally, after working his way past half of the second, his voice beginning to slur.

Jack smiled, a predatory one, showing the faintest hint of gold teeth. "T'aint mad anymore, Jamie-luv?"

"I wasn't angry. At you," Norrington amended, drinking again as he thought about it. "I was angry at the… the extremely offensive use of a Navy ship. And I don't know what happened to the crew."

"British privateers sink Portuguese ships, an' they do th'same back t'ye," Jack shrugged, carefully edging his chair closer, as Norrington took another deep swallow. It wouldn't do to make the man too inebriated – as previously seen in Tortuga, Norrington was a mean drunk. And he got terrible hangovers, during which he would resemble an extremely ornery bear. Not fun. But a wee bit tipsy… now _that_ had possibilities.

Sometimes, opportune moments needed to be crafted.

"We don't create travesties out of their ships," Norrington pouted, his eyes slightly unfocused. Third tankard of rum now. Jack was still nursing his first. As much as the drink was good, he was having far too much fun with his Jamie at the moment to get inebriated himself. "And… and…" his brow creased, as he squinted at Jack. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Jack Sparrow?"

"Of course not, love," Jack said innocently. "Ye said ye needed a drink, an' I'm buyin' ye some. Since I owe ye fer th'trip t'the _Silken Scarf_."

"Yes, you do," Norrington said self-righteously. "Owe me, that is. And… and, I don't get drunk, not over just three small cups. Of brandy. I mean rum."

The fourth tankard made the Commodore cough, and Jack decided that he should stop him now, before the aforementioned mean drunk surfaced. "That's enough now, love. We be goin' back."

Norrington glared back at him mulishly. Some strands of hair had gotten loose from the ribbon, and hung over one green eye. "No. I like the drink. What do they do to the chicken? The losing one. Does it get eaten? We ate pie in the afternoon."

"Don't know, mate," Jack gently pried the tankard from unresisting fingers, and paid up, then firmly pulled Norrington out onto the street, the other man swaying and dragging his heels, but otherwise submissive. "Could be."

"Are we going to the assassin's club now, or the opium den?" Norrington was blinking owlishly in the smoky lamplight hung from intermittent buildings at the street. The sky was darkening fast, and Jack knew it was time to get back to his _Pearl_. Admittedly, the _Silk Scarf _was closer, but he didn't want to chance Norrington's wrath the next morning, nor the very large possibility that he might actually make good on his threat.

"We're going back t'the _Pearl_, love," Jack said, staggering a little when Norrington leaned his weight onto him. "An' ye got t'help me a little."

"I like it when you say that," Norrington leaned closer, rum-scented breath tickling Jack's nose. It was suddenly getting a little harder to breathe.

"Say what, love?"

"There. There you said it again," Norrington's smile was delightfully lopsided.

Jack took a deep breath. Control. He could control himself. "I'd say it as many times as ye like it then, Jamie. But ye got t'help me get back t'the ship, savvy?"

"I savvy, Jack," Norrington said absently, looking up at the half-moon, only partially hidden by clouds. "If a full moon turns you into a… a werewolf, then a half moon…?"

"Mebbe a quarter o' a wolf," Jack suggested, his brain working on auto-conversation. They turned another corner. He could smell the harbor already.

"So you'd think… ears? More hair? Tail?" Norrington frowned at Jack's amused grin. "What are you looking at… at me like that for? I'm not drunk."

"Awlright, Jamie-luv."

"You're patronizing me," Norrington pouted again. Jack wanted to shoot the few passers-by hurrying back to their homes, just so he could have the privacy to push the other man up against one of those brick walls now and… no. Control.

"M'sorry if it seems that way," Jack stroked the warm back encouragingly as they finally reached the harbor. His _Pearl_ seemed disapproving of his tactics, but was highly tickled at Norrington's current state. However, she had also previously been tickled by the hungover-sick-dirty state of the man when he'd first signed up as part of Jack's crew, so her sense of humor was quirky at best.

"Oh, _please_, not you too," Norrington was growling at the black hull as Jack maneuvered them over to the gangway. "I'm not drunk. No, I'm _not_. Ask me a question. _Obviously_, if I can answer questions, then I'm not drunk. Do you see me throwing up anywhere? And that's a stupid question. I'm thirty-one this year."

Jack grimaced, as he had to tug Norrington up onto the deck, the man resisting once he was past the gangway, still keeping up his rambling conversation with the _Pearl_. "Missy…" She laughed at him, but thankfully fell silent. Norrington sniffed, in triumph, and consented to being pulled into the captain's cabin. Where he immediately slumped into the bed, still fully dressed, and pulled a pillow over his head.

The pirate rolled his eyes, and removed his own boots, and then Norrington's, before moving on to coats and vests, then shirts, with some difficulty and a lot of coaxing. Finally, he sat down on the bed next to the curled-up Commodore, and decided to start with kissing broad shoulders. A shiver, then a muttered, "I want to sleep."

Jack rested one bearded, beaded chin on an arm. "Really? But if ye sleep now, then ye can't 'ear me callin' ye love, can ye now?"

Norrington relaxed as he attempted to think this over through the alcohol-induced fog. Jack started lapping down his side, playfully, then nipping at the waist. A purr, then an irritated shake. "Don't want to play."

Jack pouted, but stopped, moving back up to rest his chin on warm flesh again. "Want t'tell me why, love?"

"What do you mean when you call someone else love, Jack?"

Jack closed kohl-rimmed eyes briefly in annoyance. This conversation would have been so much better left to a state of sobriety, even if Norrington had (when sober) shown no previous inclination to do even think about it. A state of insobriety was better for either getting absolutely smashed, or sex. Sometimes both, at the same time. Besides, Jamie's tongue might be looser now, but he could forget it all in the morning, making deep and profound conversation somewhat pointless. "'Tis a term o' affection, m'think. What d'ye mean when ye tell someone ye love 'im, an' then don't want t'talk t'him 'bout it afterwards?"

A pause, then, softly, "When you think you'd never see another person again, sometimes you say things."

"That ye don't mean?"

"No!" Long fingers curled tightly into the pillow. "I meant it. I just don't want to talk about it."

"It's right frustratin', Jamie."

A hollow, slurred laugh. "I don't know, Jack. This… this can't work out, not in the long term. After… after we're back in the Caribbean. I'd be working towards Admiral and… you'd be headed for the next piratical horizon. I don't think I can reconcile that. Even if I got over the moral problems I don't think I can handle just seeing you maybe once, twice in months and wondering where you are, whether you're safe. I don't want to be just your lover, Jack. But I don't want to cage you. There. Now leave me alone about it."

"M'suppose ye could give up tryin' t'get t'Admiral, love," Jack suggested gently, as he attempted to process the statement. He wasn't personally sure why he was so curious. The compass, perhaps, what it told him now. He wanted Norrington, but not as much as the _Pearl_ and the freedom it symbolized. Instinctively, he hadn't told the other man this, knowing that it would hurt his pride. Jack had felt that it would be better to finish this business with Davy Jones' soul first, having shown his Jamie the world on the backs of different seas, before deciding on some sort of plan.

"No more than you can give up piracy," Norrington replied dryly. He clung to the pillow when Jack tugged at it. "Let me sleep. Trying to get me drunk was a mean trick. And a chicken died."

"Ye still mean it, though?"

"What?"

"What ye wrote."

"I said I did, didn't I?" Petulant, now. "Your compass says so. Even your damned ship says so. Soon I'd have your… your bookshelf and table saying so, as well."

Jack grimaced at the 'damned ship' comment, but his _Pearl_ seemed merely curious, at the moment, rather than offended. "Don't think those are enchanted, mate."

A long pause. Then a mumble, "I felt sorry for the chicken."

Amused, Jack was about to reply, but the evened breathing and gentle snore told him that Norrington had succumbed to sleep. Jack absently stroked one muscular arm as he turned over what the other man had said in his mind. Why did he have to be so difficult? Jack would have gladly have had a relationship where he only saw Norrington clandestinely a few times a month or so, instead of nothing at all. It wouldn't even be difficult for the other man to stay an apparent bachelor to Port Royal society – he could just claim continuing heartbreak over 'Lizabeth, after the two rather public incidents. He would even have been, if absolutely necessary, been willing to take up another Letter of Marque, if it weren't signed by Beckett. The restrictions would have been annoying, but it was a compromise Jack was willing to make. But no… his Commodore had to be so obstinate.

"Why can't things be simple?" Jack asked his ship, quietly.

He knew she would have snorted at him, if she were physically able to. _Simple bores you_.


	13. Crossings

Author's note: Oops. Looking back, there could have been much historical flavor added to Chapter 12, but which I forgot about. Oo; Chapter notes read 'Recife (Portuguese, Entrepreneurs) near forest, cool, sugarcane, black slaves, riots, rich farmers from Olinda vs traders'. Lol! Oh, and thanks again to Wiki and Google Earth. Also, the British claim that they invented French fries.

Chapter 13

Crossings

Norrington had been in a poor mood on the first two days of their transatlantic voyage, and everyone, save Anamaria, had kept out of his path. Jack knew the first day had to do with the lingering hangover from their two-day stop at Recife, and could guess at the reasons for his continuing sullenness. Frustrated at the options left to him after the voyage, however, he chose not to make any reparations, instead keeping to the helm in the day, sharing a silent bed at night. Under Anamaria's determined (read: knife-point) insistence, Jack had accepted her 'gift' of an actual, working compass, at least for the voyage across the ocean – after he'd let slip that the last time he had done this, Barbossa had done a large share of the navigating by day. At night, the stars sufficed for Jack.

Wandering in the past, his mind and body attuned to his ship, Jack had to blink when he realized Anamaria was standing patiently next to him and tapping his arm. "Hmm?"

"What ye do now, Jack?" she spoke in low tones, gesturing eloquently at Norrington, who was perched near the figurehead, looking down at the waves. "The two o' ye 'aven't exchanged a word, since we left _dat _place."

"Why does it 'ave t'be 'What did ye do, Jack', rather than 'What did 'e do t'ye, Jack'?" Jack asked, rather curious as to why the world seemed to enjoy attributing fault to him. He knew he cultivated his roguish image, but sometimes it seemed rather unfair. Jack reached up to hold onto his hat, at a sprightly gust of wind, and adjusted their course minutely, by instinct.

"Seein' dat sort o' man, 'tis more likely the former," Anamaria said coolly, folding her arms and daring him to challenge her word. Her hair was caught up in a long, fine blue scarf that Jack had purchased… er… _acquired _in Recife – a silent apology for having to dock there, no matter how briefly, and it fluttered in the breeze.

"Awlright," Jack said quickly, as the silence stretched and Anamaria began fingering the hilts of the daggers at her hips pointedly. It was really small wonder that he had such an issue with eunuchs, having such a First Mate. "See, I got 'im drunk, an' 'e said things. T'was all."

"Ye got him drunk."

"At th'rooster fightin'…"

"I _knows_ where," Anamaria sighed, shaking her head, the bright cloth furling and whipping, a long pennant. "An' ye did it fer fun, didn't ye. Just t'see what would happen. Didn't think dat mebbe he would'a have reason, fer not wantin' t'tell ye… things."

"I knew 'e'd 'ave reason, but 'e never would'a said anythin' otherwise."

"Ye be fast t'jump t'conclusions," Anamaria looked back at the hunched figure, then at the working crew, scrubbing the decks. "An' he be a proud one."

"Yer suggestin', then, that I go apologize," Jack stroked the wheel by habit as he turned it slightly, then winced at the strong impression of agreement he got from his _Pearl_. "Missy, ye don't be cuttin' in now. I knows ye found it funny."

"If anythin', Jack, ye don't want t'have the _Pearl_ mad at ye, do ye?" Anamaria reached forward and patted the wheel, her smile innocent. "An', if he's dis mad fer days more, an' the crew starts thinkin' o' jumpin' overboard, ye don't want t'have me mad at ye too, do ye?"

Jack stared at her, then swayed back a little, waving his fingers in the air and smiling conciliatorily. "Me dear Anamaria…"

"Don't ye 'dear' me, Jack," she snarled, the silky tone vanishing. "I'm tellin' ye t'fix it, _before I get mad_."

"An' is it right, fer th'First Mate t'be threatenin' th'Cap'n?" Jack wondered aloud to himself, and then flinched at Anamaria's deepening frown. "Awlright. Eheh. Don't ye worry yer bonnie head. I'd fix it. Promise. Really."

She smiled, and tossed her hair. "Good. An' there, Cap'n, see, ye knows yer in th'wrong. Otherwise, ye wouldn'a be afraid o' cussin' me out. Now move over."

"Women are bad luck," Jack muttered, but he surrendered the wheel without further complaint.

--

"Hey," Jack leaned, back against the rail, next to Norrington, tilting his head as the sea-spray dotted his sleeve. "Can we talk?"

Norrington continued studying the churning white surf left in the wake of the black ship, and the deep sea-green water, one hand supporting himself on the rail, the other on his lap. His boots were wet with spray, coat missing, shirt half-open in the heat, hat jammed firmly on his head. The ponytail bounced in the wind.

Jack waited for a while, then leaned back further, looking up at the endless sky. "M'sorry I got ye drunk."

Another long pause, then, softly, wryly, "I'm beginning to wonder why you approach reconciliation on the assumption that everything is your fault, Jack."

Jack blinked, slowly. "So it ain't?" Hopeful now. "Ye seem mad at old Jack, though."

"No, I'm annoyed, at myself, for losing control. Especially since I swore I'd watch my drinking, after Tortuga. And then for blurting out all those… things, afterwards." Norrington picked at one cuff self-consciously. "I suppose you think that I'm a fool overly given to dramatic notions."

"Not at all," Jack offered, a little guiltily, knowing he hadn't exactly warned Norrington about the strength of the rum, "T'was hard t'hear. But we 'ave a lot o' time t'think it over."

"I've been thinking of priorities," Norrington looked up, to the far distance where the sea melded almost seamlessly with the sky. "What sort of man gives up a loved one, for his vocation? When I was a boy I resented my father immensely for it. For loving his work in Bombay. Eventually my mother could stand it no longer and took us over from England."

"An'?" Jack asked, when the silence stretched.

"And she sickened and died on the voyage," Norrington replied flatly. "I thank God my brother was with me. Though I suppose I resent him now for also falling in love with that self-same work. Now, however, I find myself placing so much value on my own vocation that it opens a choice where there should really be no choice at all."

"Ye came out 'ere wi' me, goin' t'Canton. T'aint exactly a career move," Jack pointed out, gently, wondering why his Jamie seem to enjoy torturing himself with abstract notions.

"If honor did not dictate it as well, I may not have," Norrington looked down again, his lip curling briefly. "I don't know. But it would have been a harder choice, to follow you."

"An' m'not so certain, say, that I could give up me 'vocation', either," Jack added.

Norrington looked at him, with a pained smile of self-mockery – _you weren't the one to say 'I love you'_ – and turned back at the sea. "I'm not asking you to. Though of course I would rather you did, or at least took up a Letter of Marque, properly. But even if you did, sodomy is a crime."

"Doubt yer one fer public displays o' affection, even if I was a woman," Jack grinned wickedly. "But if yer goin' t'prove me wrong, m'open to it."

Norrington blinked, then rolled his eyes. "If this is a reconciliation, why aren't you taking me seriously?"

"'Cos yer confusin' old Jack, Jamie-luv. Yer not angry wi' me, but yer angry wi' yerself. An' then ye want me, but ye don't want me," Jack peered at his fingers, looking away at the industriously scrubbing crew. "An' ye want t'bed me, but ye ain't. So m'not sure if I should be th'one apologisin', or ye. But 'tis a long way t'Canton an' back, and I'd rather not 'ave this hangin' over our 'eads all th'way." Jack jerked his head at the slim figure at the wheel. "'Sides, me first mate 'as been makin' all sorts o' threats."

"What threats?" Norrington asked, apparently settling on that as the safest line of conversation.

"She don't want t'see ye mopin' about, since ye be scarin' th'crew," Jack drummed his fingers on the dark wood. "An' she thinks it be me fault. Entirely. I've seen her do terrible things wi' those knives. Made some men sing high notes fer th'rest o' their lives, even."

"Mr. Turner mentioned that you seem to have some sort of… fear, or preoccupation, with eunuchs," Norrington said thoughtfully. "To the point where he was wondering about your… whether you were…" A smirk. "Personally, I suppose I'm glad he wasn't right."

Jack wondered how the very polite and proper and respectful and innocent young William Turner had mentioned that line of conversation to Norrington, of all people. Did Port Royal have bachelor parties? Why had his Jamie been invited? And why was he sailing to the other end of the world to rescue someone who had entertained insulting misapprehensions as to the state of his manhood? So many questions. But at least his Jamie seemed to have recovered some of his good mood – he was chuckling to himself. "What?"

"You look like you just swallowed a rat," Norrington grinned. "You'd have to admit, Jack, with your mannerisms, and your distinct… swagger, sometimes one wonders."

"So ye say, when ye've 'ad some very close looks at me goods," Jack retorted, poking Norrington in the arm.

"I'm just saying you can't fault the poor boy." His Jamie was attempting to look serious, but his lips kept twitching upwards.

"After th'rescue I could go 'bout showin' him some proof," Jack suggested, then smirked in turn when Norrington's smile thinned instantly. The jealous sort. He laughed. "Don't ye worry, Jamie. If anythin', 'Lizabeth can be worse than Anamaria."

"Miss Swann?" Norrington said, disbelievingly. "Whatever gives you that impression?"

Jack was about to talk about the whole issue about kissing him and then chaining him to the mast, before his brain kicked him and told him that, as topics of conversation went, that would be a very bad idea indeed. On the other hand, now that he was actually fond of Jamie, he was somewhat guilty that the other man was still under the false impression that he had given himself up to save his crew. However, he knew that the truth, as it were, would be out, eventually. Elizabeth didn't look the sort who was too good at keeping secrets. "M'seen her fightin' undead pirates in that treasure room. An' members o' Davy Jones' crew." A pause, then a breath. "She's capable o' a lot o' things, that gel, when it 'as t'do wi' young Will. Like chainin' an' old pirate t'his ship, so that she an' th'boy wouldn'a get et fer lunch."

Jack wasn't looking up, but he knew Norrington was staring at him. "She did _what_?"

As confessions went, Jack decided, after all, not to mention the kissing. "Shackled me t'the mainmast, an' scooted off, tellin' th'crew that I chose t'go down wi' me _Pearl_." An affectionate pat of the railing. "Good thing, too. M'not sure I would'a done it otherwise. By the time I got meself free an' th'beastie showed up, I was glad. T'aint no man who'd give up somethin' 'e loves, out o' fear." A shrug. "But me _Pearl_, she 'ad other ideas, just when I was 'bout set t'fight – right booted me off, she did."

Silence, then an arm was wrapped tentatively under his chin, squeezing his shoulder briefly. His hat was removed, and a nose buried in his hair. Another long moment, then, quietly, "There is no courage, without fear. You left the ship, but you went back. You could have jumped when you got free, but you didn't."

Jack patted the arm, murmuring softly, wryly, "Well, m'_Captain_ Jack Sparrow, mate."

A muffled chuckle, then his chin was tilted up for a brushing, tender kiss, sweet after days of abstinence.

--

Jack wasn't sure how this opportune moment had occurred, but he didn't much care. Norrington was braced against the wheel, fingers tight on the spokes, head bowed, his panting harsh, above the sound of the waves. Lanterns set on the masts cast odd shadows on the dark deck, fingers of light that traced their movements – namely of Norrington at the helm, and Jack pressed up against his back, murmuring salaciously into his ear, one hand exploring the skin under his open shirt, the other busy in dark gray breeches. The discarded coat had been looped in the wheel so that it wouldn't be lost over the side, Turner swords and pistols secured to it, and the cold night wind that tore at their sleeves likely made the engorged heat against Norrington's rump inescapably obvious to the other man. Occasionally, Jack would laugh, and reach forward to adjust their course.

Above, the stars provided mapping points with which Jack was easily familiar, enough that he could play, and steer, at the same time, while his Jamie fought to concentrate on the latter and slowly surrendered to the former. A moan, a hiss. "Jack, this is… is wrong. We're not even in private. _Jack_!"

An arch back against him and a shudder, as cool fingers found and played at a stiffening nub. Nails playfully scratched along a restrained length caused a curse and an involuntary buck. Flicks of tongue at the nape of his neck, a whine – a squeeze of callused fingers around thick heat, a growl. A thrust of his own, into the pert rump, a yelp, a rub of a thumb over a slicked slit, a whimper. Jack knew the Commodore's body as an endless fascination bookmarked by sound. "T'aint that right, love."

"And… and this is the wheel… _Jack_… of your _Pearl_," Norrington bit out, as he bucked insistently into pulling fingers. "It's… it's…"

"So very wrong?" Jack purred, flicking the tip with a nail. Another whine. Aristocratic fingers were white-knuckled over the spokes. "Bit t'starboard there, mate." The other man seemed to comply out of pure habit, if shakily. "As t'me _Pearl_, yer th'one wi' yer hands on th'wheel, love. Ask her if she minds."

"It isn't… _oh God_… about whether she minds." Breathing was shallower, harsher, as muscles tensed.

"Really? 'Cos she's encouragin' me t'do somethin' right scandalous at th'moment, Jamie-luv, an' mebbe ye'd like t'know," Jack said, rolling his hips suggestively. His _Pearl_ laughed, as wild and unbridled with trappings of polite society was he was, not when they were so far and free over the waves. His hand left its methodical exploration of the warm chest, wet from sweat and sea spray, to grope into his pockets for the vial.

"That's why I said… that it wasn't about her opinion," Norrington said breathlessly, his breath hitching now, and then he let out another whine as the fingers stilled and withdrew. "Jack, don't stop."

-cut-

Eventually he pulled away, wiping at himself, then pulling up his breeches and looking up to the dark sky, painted with stars. "We're off course."

Norrington cursed him breathlessly, shaky against the wheel, as he attempted to dress despite his current state, stained and sated. He managed, however, to steer them back in the correct direction, with a look upwards and a brief consultation with the working compass in the pocket of the coat looped on the wheel. "Someday your… your _games_, Jack, are going to be my death."

"T'aint hearin' any complainin' back then, love."

--

Docking in Jamestown went without a hitch, despite choppy waters. The harbormaster and an official of the East India Company had been properly impressed with the Letter of Marque. They'd even managed to trade some cargo for supplies and minor repairs. Graciously, Jack allowed some days of shore leave in the town, which sat between steep cliffs that forced an odd layout of long streets and narrow buildings, as much as he doubted there would be good rum in a tiny bit of land in the middle of too much water. As it were, as East India Company land went, it was pretty boring. Nobody remembered him, or had heard of Norrington, and the black ship, with black sails, was likely the most interesting thing the community had seen since, well, the last time he was here. And since they'd kept both those visits quiet, with Jamestown being the only feasible stopover before the Dark Continent, only his _Pearl_ remained in their memories. She was quite pleased, vain thing.

"Miss bein' a celebrity, love?" he asked Norrington playfully, as they sat at some sort of seaside café near the harbor which had a virtual monopoly on its type of business in the tiny town, sharing rather decent tea, fresh fish and thick-cut strips of potatoes, deep fried and dusted in coarse salt. Even cutlery had been provided.

Norrington chuckled, watching the loading and unloading of cargo thoughtfully. "Not in the least. What about you?"

"It has its advantages," Jack admitted, even though his bright, roguish outfit had been drawing a few stares.

"Like?"

"Seems t'attract 'andsome Navy officers," Jack grinned impishly, as he popped one of the potato strips into his mouth. Norrington snorted.

"I was wondering how you were going to be able to dock in Capetown," he said, after half the fish was gone. "It's a Dutch port."

"One o' th'crew speaks Dutch, an' we need t'stop there fer resupply," Jack pointed out. He snorted. "Th'last time, Barbossa was 'ere, an' he spoke th'lingo fair enough. Doubt anything's changed much. Sugar an' goods from Jamaica, still welcome."

"What does Capetown trade in?"  
"Supplies," Jack shrugged. "Good enough. Other than that, it trades in lives, an' I'm not havin' anythin' t'do wi' that sort o' trade. We stop again in Seychelles, then trade in Colombo – or Madras – fer opium, then on t'Canton, to trade that fer tea, silk, an' meet wi' th'whelps, as well." A pause. "Somethin' wrong?"

"Opium." Distaste.

"An' worth its weight in gold in Canton," Jack said mildly, "Or even at World's End. Could buy our safe passage in there." And he still had the silver from Barbados, hidden in the hold.

A deep sigh, some poking at the grilled fish with a knife. "I don't like it."

"An' ye be havin' problems wi' tradin' t'the natives o' Canton, or t'the pirates?"

Norrington's lips moved, soundlessly, then he blinked as Jack pushed a sliver of potato into them. And grinned, flashing gold teeth. "Profit, mate."  
"By spreading vice." Norrington muttered, eating.

"Not yer province, is it? An' there be fewer alternatives wi' as much good coin," Jack said reasonably. "'Sides, it's available in London, mate. Not very illegal."

Norrington conceded the point, taking a sip of the black tea. "I suppose so." A faint smile. "But if you ask for my preference, I would rather you traded it at the World's End."

"Pirates bein' already too steeped in sin, hmm?"

"Very, and it's contagious," Norrington said dryly. "I should impose limits on your games before they corrupt me further, and I lose all Commodorial material altogether." Another sip. "So, we're stopping at Madras instead of Colombo?"

Jack pouted. Norrington hadn't missed that, after all. "Madras is a wee bit on th'way, as compared t'yer Bombay. An' Barbossa prefers Madras t'Colombo, we might catch up wi' them there. _An' _I didn't say we were stoppin' there, mate, just that it's a possibility."

"I'd prefer that," Norrington said thoughtfully. "Though of course I still prefer Bombay."

"Why? Thought ye'd be wantin' t'stay away from yer da', an' all."

Norrington smiled rather wanly. "When it's been a decade, Jack, sometimes things change a little." A shrug. "I suppose Madras is better. Safer, and as you say, en-route."

His Jamie was beginning to confuse him again. Jack nibbled at his lower lip. Did the man want to go to Bombay, or not? Why would he want to? Besides, he was effectively at the moment in the company (and in a relationship with) a wanted criminal. Who was male. Not exactly the sort of thing he could mention at a dinner table with his father, was it? A shout over at the harbor distracted him, and he looked over sharply – some cargo had slipped, but hadn't caused much mishap. Confusion as crew and laborers strove to right the crate and the pulley. "Jamie. Do ye want t'go t'Bombay? Suppose we could stop, on th'way back." A grin when Norrington glanced at him in surprise. "M'like curry."

"I'd… I'd think about it," Norrington gaze dropped to his tea, the sweet, unconscious smile making it worth the concession.

--

Jack hung upside down in the rigging, legs hooked in the robes, watching the seam in the horizon, and wondered when a grand adventure to World's End became wrapped around a green-eyed Commodore from Port Royal. He was even trading – trading! The last time he had come this route, there had been minimal trading – they'd taken the sugar and spices off some ships, appropriated opium from India, and the only real trade they had done was for supplies. None of this buying and selling business – so terribly un-piratical, it was. He didn't look forward to Barbossa's jibes, when they caught up, or the whelps' surprise.

And the worst thing was, his _Pearl_ didn't seem particularly curious as to whether they were engaging in piracy, or in nominally merchant behavior – her only preoccupation was with freedom over the sea, preferably with all her favorite crew. It made it somewhat harder for Jack to consider exactly what he valued – his status as a pirate, or as a freeman, and what it meant to be either.

The rigging swayed. Jack's gaze remained fixed, though at one point he reached a hand downward to help Norrington up. The other man balanced perfectly, face on level with Jack's upside down one, hat slightly askew. Jack swept his own hat off – held previously to his head with his other hand – in a gesture of mock greeting.

"Is it healthy to have all the blood going to your head that way?" Norrington asked blandly, as he followed Jack's gaze, out and over the blue.

"Don't know," Jack said, distracted, looking out over nothing and everything, all at once. There was silence, marked only by soft breathing, too quickly whipped away by the wind.

"We'd get them back, and take care of that soul, too," Norrington said, finally, taking a stab at Jack's preoccupation, and missing the mark. The pirate smiled, however, encouraging the mistake.

"Aye, Jamie-love." It was what could happen afterwards, between them, which worried him.


	14. Chasing Lady Luck

Author's note: omg. Still so far away from Canton TT Speeding up now. Also, I am aware that Capetown is really written as Cape Town, but I'm too lazy to correct previous chapters. I also tried to keep track of exactly who the Dutch EIC had picked fights with around 1700s, but as it seemed to be 'just about everyone, and especially the British', you'd have to forgive some more historical inaccuracies. And yes, calling Netherlands 'Holland' is inaccurate, but I doubt Jack really knows that. Liberté is fictional.

Chapter 14

Chasing Lady Luck

Capetown was really just a harbor and a stretch of buildings that sprawled out from a single, large structure – a pentagonal castle of yellow-painted stone, flying the flags of the Dutch East India Company and Holland. The Castle of Good Hope. As a rule, Jack very much disliked forts, but the Dutch had, rather annoyingly, placed most of the shops and offices of importance within it.

The crew were all crowded at the rail, watching their approach to land with unveiled anticipation. The crossing from the Atlantic had been difficult at parts, and they had lost one man over the side during a bad storm. Anamaria looked bone-tired up on the rigging, dressed again in man's clothing, her face set in a cold mask. Capetown was notorious for the slave trade, and her parents had been packed like livestock into a ship not much bigger than the _Black Pearl_, when they had been shipped from this point to the plantations of Recife.

One of their crew – a rather short, quiet stocky man with an immense brown beard, known only as Johns, had been elected as their spokesperson, by sheer fact that only he knew how to speak Dutch. And had been carefully coached before arrival. They ran Spanish flags, since Jack had heard rumor in Jamestown that Britain and Holland were _still_ at it, which meant at the moment, British Privateers were terribly out of fashion in Capetown. Also, Spanish was a language that he could speak – even if he was a wee bit rusty.

Norrington looked at the castle rather doubtfully, and at the small pilot ship coming up to meet them. "Dangerous."

"Brief stop only, mate – th'real bit o' shore leave we'd take will be in Seychelles," Jack said, in between shouting orders to weigh anchor and allow the smaller ship to approach them. "Anamaria don't like this place. An' t'will be too easy fer th'crew t'get us into trouble, what wi' England not seein' 'ead t'head wi' th'Dutch."

The sloop was now right next to them, the man at the deck shouting up at them in Dutch. Johns answered, and there was a brief exchange, with much gesturing at the watching crew, Jack, and the flags at the mast. Finally, the man nodded, gesturing at the harbor, and Johns walked up to Jack to speak in low tones. "Cap'n, dey give permission."

"Thanks, Johns," Jack nodded, directing his _Pearl_ and crew to move at a sedate pace behind the other ship.

Docking was an annoyance – the forms had to be translated, Jack had to dictate (quietly), and Johns had to translate again. Since the short crewmember wasn't literate, the harbormaster then had to fill them out. It was well into the afternoon when they were finally done, and then Jack had to take Johns out to the fort to do some trading. On his insistence, Norrington had remained behind – the man exuded Englishness like an aura. The Portuguese in Recife had been incurious, but with tensions at the moment in Capetown, it was for the best.

The temperature was bracing, approaching autumn, a pleasant difference from Jamaica. Large flags flew in the ocean breeze atop intermittent poles, especially with the stern 'VOC' of the Dutch East India Company. Jack led them to the fort, where the guards frowned at his garb, but let him in. Where he found, to his irritation, that the last trader who Barbossa and himself had used to handle the sugar was out of business, and he would have to find another one who would handle slightly suspicious goods with no comment.

In the meantime, he occupied himself by expertly lifting two purses. The first was almost empty, only containing some boring-looking keys and a few coins – the second was better, and could tide them the delicacies of bread, fresh fruit, perhaps even meat. Maybe a few more purses. Crowded places suited Jack just fine.

Finally, through some observation, he decided on a slightly seedy-looking man whose desk had a small Spanish flag. Besides, it was near the baker, and the scent of fresh-baked bread, after so long at sea, was hypnotic. He smiled winningly as he approached, speaking in Spanish. 'Good afternoon.'

The man looked up with a frown. His bald head was discolored with spots near the crown, and some wisps of hair fought a battle of survival from above his thick ears. Watery blue eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Jack's swaying posture and his colorful clothes, and then looked at the relatively unprepossessing Johns. 'What do you want?'

'Do you deal in trade of cargo?' Jack was struggling a little with the language, but smiled and hoped it didn't show.

The man consulted a ledger next to him, then another one. 'Depends on what you're trading.'

'Sugar, from Jamaica.'

A snort. 'You've come a long way to sell sugar.'

'Passing by to the Indies. Just need some supplies.'

'Privateer?'

'Yes.'

'Name of Jacques Sparrow?'

Jack blinked, startled. The other man cocked his head, then reached under his desk, handing Jack a folded, sealed set of papers, on the back of which a very accurate picture of the tattoo on his arm was drawn. 'Paid for. Your employer was here a week or so past, and told me to expect you. Tips well.'

Employer indeed. Jack had to bite down a growl, and add that insult to the list of grudges to which he still owed people a reckoning, Norrington included. Instead, he smiled and bobbed his head, startling Johns in turn. 'Much appreciated.'

'The goods will be at your ship tomorrow.'

Jack provided the dock number, and further details, then stalked to the bakery, growling under his breath, thrusting the letter into his coat. Johns wisely refrained from comment, and meekly ordered (and offered to carry) bread, a small crate of oranges, and a large amount of beef (which had to be delivered), which made him look like a tottering hillock of food.

Only when they were on their way back did Jack look at the letter, muttering darkly under his breath at the man who had penned it.

'_Jack,_

_ Heard you lost the Black Pearl again, and to the Kraken at that, from the whelps. You're beginning to develop a positively dreadful habit there, by the way. I know you'd probably be looking to do something about that, so we'd probably have at least a week's start on you. You'd get the old girl back somehow – at least, Tia seemed fairly confident in your middling abilities – so if somehow you failed to remember to converse with the Ma'm, know we'd be seeing you either in Liberté or Madras. This ship that your old crew picked is decently seaworthy, but she's no Pearl, and you might catch up quite quickly. _

Failing which, if there's some sort of extenuating hindrance – wouldn't surprise me, with you – we will wait for you for a couple of weeks at Canton. I'm sure you'd know where to find me – even your addled mind should recall our last trip to Canton with Bootstrap, but just in case, I've included a carefully labeled map.

_ The whelps are even more annoying when together. Don't know how you stand it. I'd have thrown them overboard weeks ago, especially the girl, if not for Tia. But since you'd be interested in their welfare, well, they're doing good, if getting a little thin on ship rations. The romance is fair enough to make one sick at times. It's almost as bad as the moping over your 'death'. I'm greatly tempted to just tell them you're alive and have it over with. _

_ By the way, seems that the gel tricked you into going down with your ship? Bad luck, the fairer sex, though I'm shocked that you fell for it. Better check if you're becoming senile, old chap. _

_ Enclosed further are a set of pictures that should be of some help. Try not to lose the Pearl yet again on the way. _

_Be seeing you, _

_Hector Barbossa'_

Behind the letter was a beautiful, shaded sketch of a galleon – no doubt the ship _Lady Luck_, a rougher sketch of a world map with little crosses linked with dotted lines showing their path and ports of call, and finally a rather accurate map of Canton, or at least the Canton they had visited, with the meeting spot marked with a cross. Each drawing had very insulting little labels, as if meant for a child. Jack growled again. Johns edged a step back.

--

"These are really good," Norrington said later, as he looked at the sketches spread on the rosewood table in the cabin.

"Don't need them, don't care," Jack replied petulantly, in a stuffed chair, his heels propped on the table, eyes closed, nursing a bottle of rum. Norrington was annoyingly fascinated by Barbossa's precise copperplate writing and the drawings, to a point that Jack wondered irritably if the other man was, well, trying to irritate him. Bloody Barbossa!

"Who was Barbossa? Before he became a pirate, that is," Norrington asked, apparently oblivious to Jack's ire, studying the map of Canton. "You've said he speaks Dutch."

"An' French, an' Portuguese, an' Italian, German, Spanish, an' 'e even picked up a little o' th'lingo in Canton," Jack muttered. Half a bottle had loosened his tongue a little. He pouted at the sudden curiosity that suffused his Jamie's face. "Why're ye interested?"

"I find it very peculiar how an educated man with such a talent would turn to piracy."

"T'aint 'alf right. Barbossa has a gift o' th'tongue. Languages – any language. And at most things 'e wanted," Jack shrugged, taking another deep swallow of his rum. "'e 'ad a chair in Oxford, round 'bout when 'e was yer age."

"_Oxford_." Norrington pronounced the word with astonishment, evidently astonished at the mention of the prestigious university. "But his surname isn't English. Though I suppose his accent…"

"An' tis his real name, ye sure? Or even his real accent?" Jack countered, glowering at the papers. "There was a scandal o' some sort, think it involved a gel, an' he was off t'sea."

"Where'd you meet him?"

"Had th'bad luck t'be stowed away in th'same ship on th'way t'Jamaica," Jack said flatly, a clear indication that he didn't wish to discuss the topic any further. Norrington leaned his head on one elbow, curiosity piqued, but wisely refraining from further questioning – instead looking over the sketches again thoughtfully, and at the letter, listening to Jack acquaint himself with the rum, and the sounds outside that indicated the changing of the night watch. Eventually, he rose from his seat, moved over and confiscated the rum, holding it away from grasping, nut-brown fingers, and dumping it far on the edge of the desk, out of reach. Jack's complaint was silenced with conciliatory kisses.

--

"What is this island called?" Norrington asked, finally, when they sighted land in Seychelles, over wild cheering from the members of the crew who had been this way before. The passage around the Cape had been difficult, and his _Pearl_ needed some repairs. "And why does it remind me of Tortuga?"

"'Cos it's somewhat like Tortuga, Jamie-luv," Jack grinned, as cheered by the sight of the friendly port as the others. "A freeman's port. Ye be lookin' at th'fair island known t'us as Liberté. We'd be stayin' here 'bout a week. Crew needs t'unwind some."

"You mean a pirate port," Norrington drawled, as he looked at the bustling harbor. Ships of any size and manner were docked in the deep water, some even openly flying the Jolly Roger. No sign, however, of a ship that looked like the one in Barbossa's drawing. There were shouts and whistles, audible from the distance, as the _Black Pearl_ cruised into the harbor – a black ship, with black sails, only recently the scourge of the Caribbean. Already a large crowd of onlookers was gathering at the dock. "Looks like you're a celebrity again, Jack."

"Ye might want t'keep a low profile 'ere, Jamie-luv," Jack advised in return, as he moved to the gangway. "Some o' the pirates wot didn't go t'North Carolina from Jamaica, that ye chased out, likely move 'round hereabouts."

"I did recognize some of the ships as we came in," Norrington admitted, then sucked in a breath when a familiar, burly figure pushed through the crowd and waved up at Jack.

"Ahoy th'_Pearl_!" roared Halsh Taver.

Jack grimaced, but waved in return. Halsh swaggered up the gangplank, to the bridge, where he chuckled again when he saw Norrington. "Still keepin' yer… friend around, Sparrow? M'heard that th'real one's back now, in Port Royal."

Jack was very glad that the speed of his _Pearl_ meant that his escapades in Port Royal would likely not reach Seychelles for a while – and admittedly, when they did, they would likely be unrecognizable from the original. "That so, that so. An' me… friend here, he be right useful," A leer at Norrington, who arched an eyebrow at him, then surprised him by stretching out a hand.

"Cap'n Taver, m'apologise fer th'misunderstandin' in Tortuga." The ordinarily crisp Queen's English had been replaced with a passable imitation of Jack's brogue.

"Accepted, an' I offer me own apologies in turn. Ye 'ave a name?" Taver shook his hand with a firm bear's grip that made the Commodore flinch slightly.

"Jamie Wilson," Norrington said, absolutely unruffled.

Jack stared at Norrington for a moment, slightly suspiciously, before recovering quickly, sidling between them with a quick grin. "What're ye doin' in Liberté, Taver?"

"Fleein' th'coop, just like ye, m'thinkin'. Norrington _an' _Beckett," Halsh said, as if that required no further explanation, leaning on the rail of the _Pearl_, watching as Anamaria directed the offload of crew and handled the harbormaster with military precision. "Don't ye think it's bad luck t'sail wi' a woman? Not t'mention make her yer first mate?"

"It'd be worse luck not t'sail wi' her, Taver," Sparrow said dryly. "She 'as a temper as bad as th'sea, an' those knives at her belt t'aint fer show."

"Feisty." Halsh sounded interested. Jack weighed entertainment value against potential guilt over indirectly encouraging the creation of yet another eunuch in the world, and the former won out.

"T'be sure, an' I can tell ye, a hellcat in bed," he agreed. Behind him, there was a soft chuckle, as Norrington caught on.

"Th'two o' ye ain't…?"

"Naw. Few years ago, but it didn't work out."

"I'd be leavin' ye to it, then," Halsh said, with a wink, as he started off towards Jack's First Mate. "Ye can use th'money ye won off me th'last time t'buy me a drink at the _Whale's Horn_."

Jack and Norrington watched silently as Halsh's crude propositions provoked arched eyebrows and an icy warning. The follow-up (likely something around the lines of 'I like spirited women', knowing Halsh's type) was followed by a sniff of disdain, and the production of a knife in each hand. After that it got ugly, but Halsh managed to flee down into the crowd before permanent damage was done, to raucous jeers.

"That was quite cruel," Norrington said finally, though he was smirking.

Anamaria shot them a dirty look that promised future violence if there was no apology.

--

Enquiries revealed that a ship called the _Lady Luck_ had indeed docked at Liberté, and had stayed for repairs, but had left immediately afterwards. It had traded in sugar and cinnamon, for silver and silks. Irritatingly enough, that had changed the market for sugar, and the deal was a little less advantageous than Jack could have gotten.

His poor mood, however, was lost afterwards in the pleasure of being able to openly swagger around Liberté in the midst of its wild revels and show his Jamie around without having to be wary of hostile authorities. As he'd suspected, word had gotten out about the apparent status of 'Norrington' to him, and there were no challenges (though a lot of leers, and salacious propositions from men and women, which his Jamie ignored haughtily).

Madras, instead of Colombo, had been decided in game of bragg, in one of the taverns, with Anamaria winning. She preferred, she said, a proper port where people spoke English. Jack wondered later whether or not there had been collusion between his First Mate and his lover, but dared not raise the point at the moment, since he hadn't as yet made it up to her for the Taver Incident.

British coin bought some luxuries – a room at an inn that supplied hot water for baths, for example. Norrington had not been averse to sharing.

The actual purchase of a beautifully balanced pistol with silver scrolling patterns had soothed his First Mate's ire. Norrington had been amused at this very masculine gift, as compared to the blue scarf, but then he had been the one to pick it out (and insist that Jack actually pay).

They lost more crew to the joys of Liberté, but gained some others who wished to visit the Indies. Jack, as in Tortuga, was careful now to include his _Pearl_ in the screening process. If anything else, it pleased her.

The pirate's bank on Liberté was a bookshop (perhaps even odder than the tea shop in Tortuga) and was run by a Spaniard. His Jamie had been gratified to find dusty tomes of Chaucer, Donne and Shakespeare, and even philosophy by Calvin, and had asked immediately for his cut from the sugar trade. Jack had grumbled about waste. Norrington compared rum to books, and concluded (without assent) that the latter were inevitably more worthwhile.

There were a few incidents with suspicious pirate captains, nothing that some fast-talking couldn't solve, however. Jack wondered if Norrington was having far too much fun with his fake accent and rolling walk, so different from the crisp voice and the Naval strut. So far from home, now – for him.

--

Jack wasn't sure who was more shocked to see the other – Norrington Senior, or his Jamie, when they docked at Madras in view of the squat, massive stone walls of Fort St. George. The older man held a strong family resemblance to Jamie, but was slightly stockier, his hair graying, eyes ice blue instead of stormy green, dressed richly in embroidered coat, cravat, wig, hat, the works, despite the balmy temperature. Imperiously, he had asked (really a demand) for boarding permission, when the gangplank was put up, and Jack had to hide a grin. The family resemblance was very deep.

The crew (far more interested in the potential show now than their shore leave) watched silently as his Jamie strode up in his (now tattered, and somewhat discolored) civilian's garb to meet his father on the deck, followed by Jack. "Father. What are you doing here?"

"I'd ask the same of you, James, and in such company," Norrington Sr. replied coolly, looking over the rest of the crew, then at Jack, who tried his best smile. "The last I had heard of Jamaica, you were a Commodore again, soon to be promoted to Admiral."

"And the last I heard of Bombay, you were still in charge of East India Company interests, over there," Jamie replied, matching his father's tone, not budging an inch.

"I keep agents on Liberté. When they reported that a black ship, with black sails, was headed for Madras, I decided to take a look at what was purportedly my son's worst enemy. From what we hear."

"Converted now, mate," Jack said quickly, stretching his arm forward to shake. "M'name's Captain Jack Sparrow, as ye probably know. Privateer."

Norrington Sr. looked at the ringed hand in obvious distaste, and then met his son's darkening expression. A faint, thoughtful smile, and the distaste vanished – he shook Jack's hand, a firm, dry grip. "Pleased, I'm sure. I am Lord Henry Norrington, British East India Company." Jack hid his sudden further curiosity and unease behind another bright grin. Just with that gesture, Lord Norrington had acquired a little information at the nature of his son's relationship with Jack. Snake-quick, father and son. Jack wondered if the mother's death was the only reason why they couldn't get along. "What is your business so far from Jamaica, if it's not too rude to ask?"

"A debt of honor," James said coldly. "Some friends are in need."

This was considered thoughtfully, and then there was a warm, playful smile that made Jack straighten warily in recognition of a master of the game (which was hard to define with boundaries and goals, really – a game of people, manipulation, mischief, where winning sometimes wasn't as important as losing gracefully). "James, we have a townhouse past the harbor. I would be pleased if you – and your Captain – would accept my invitation to reside there for the duration of your stay in Madras."

"Matthew?"

"Is unfortunately at the moment in England."

Another pretty frown, the Commodore evidently not wanting to accept the invitation, likely simply because it had been delivered with tone of command. Jack remembered soft smiles and convoluted requests in Jamestown, and all those allusions to Bombay and his family once his Jamie had heard that they might be passing by. "I'd 'ave t'decline, mate. I sleep in me ship. M'sure that we can spare th'Commodore, though."

Norrington stared at him. "J… _Captain_…" Close one, there, but he doubted that Henry Norrington had missed it. Ice blue eyes were watching him, and there was brief, faint quirk to the lips. Henry Norrington could also recognize a skilled player, when faced with one, and the gauntlet had been thrown.

"Got t'catch up wi' yer da', mate," Jack said cheerily. A glint on green eyes promised that Jack would have to make up for this later, and that he would somehow regret it. "Me an' th'crew, we'd be handlin' business now. Shoo." He waved his fingers somewhat vaguely under his Jamie's nose.

With considerable ill grace, Norrington dipped his head, tugging slightly on his hat, a mocking gesture of respect. "With your leave then, Captain."

Watching them leave in a horse-drawn carriage bearing the arms of the East India Company, Anamaria stepped up next to Jack. "Ye sure 'bout dat, Jack?"

"Safer, Anamaria," Jack said, pausing in his instructions to the crew. "'e's been too long at sea, wi' me. If we both went, 'e'd 'ave given other things away. If we both didn't go, t'will be a good bet that his da' be pesterin' us all th'time we dock here, or havin' us watched."

"Didn'a mean dat. Meant Norrington the younger, 'e's goin' t'be right pissed at ye."

"He'd figure out why 'e 'ad t'go alone," Jack said confidently, as he confirmed the roster of the skeleton crew to stay with the ship at all times. "Now I've got t'go trade me some opium." Besides, he'd need to make himself a little more accessible, curious to see what Norrington Sr. would do now, with the ball in his court.

--

Jack, strolled slowly back to his _Pearl_ after having negotiated the trade of sugar for opium from the same trader he and Barbossa had used the last time. Questioning had revealed that Barbossa had not in fact visited him, despite previous inquiries at supplies traders showing that he had been in Madras, if briefly – they'd only missed him by a few days. There had even been mention that he had been accompanied by two pretty-faced men – a very slender one with a large hat, and a protective-looking one with a fine sword. Curious, very curious. Either the whelps had been somewhat more resilient than the Commodore with regards to trading in vice, or Barbossa had his eye on other things.

Madras in the early afternoon was crowded with both Europeans of various rank and class, and people of colour, even in the rising heat of the day. Jack was considerably amused to note that cows still roamed around freely, occasionally sitting in the middle of roads and blocking traffic. Apparently they were holy… but then, he also vaguely recalled Barbossa mentioning something, the last time, about an elephant-headed God, and there were people around riding those massive creatures. He smiled and tipped his hat at a heavily veiled native woman dressed in what looked like a lot of large, colorful scarves, and she scurried away quickly, as if in fright.

"Captain Jack Sparrow, of the _Black Pearl_?"

"Hmm?" Jack paused in the midst of eating a kebab of what was probably chicken (far too many things tasted like chicken). Food, at least, was in abundance in Madras, even if the local sort tended towards being spicy. A very officious looking man in a wig, in blue and maroon livery, had approached him, and cleared his throat.

"Lord Norrington requests your presence in his townhouse for dinner, at seven." An equally officious looking piece of paper was pushed into his hands. It held a written invitation, the time, and venue, printed in a neat hand, under the logo of the British East India Company.

Jack pulled at his beaded beard thoughtfully, and then slipped the paper into his coat. "M'think 'bout it."

"He would also like to say that if you accept, there could be, in the near future, mutually advantageous trade in opium, coffee or silver. If you were, however, to decline, it is entirely likely that administrative errors could occur that delay your departure. Cargo going missing, for example, or unpleasant searches of the hold born of misunderstanding." All spoken in a crisp, polite voice. No smile, though. "It will, of course, be absolutely regrettable in the extreme."

"An' Lord Norrington, 'e tells ye this?"

"I was merely instructed to make sure you were fully informed of current affairs in Madras, Captain Sparrow."

Jack paused, swaying a little on his feet, shaking his head a little at the devilry of (elder) Norringtons. "Seven, ye say?"

"Yes. Lord Norrington also would note in passing that there is no need to dress for the occasion, if it be beyond means or convenience." The man bowed curtly, and left smartly.

"'e would, would 'e," Jack murmured to himself, and then smiled slowly, recognizing the start of a game, and a playful one, despite the veiled threat, and instinctively wanting in on the stakes. Confronted directly, though, he would have denied that it had anything to do with an absolute obsession with Norringtons. It may have merited 'obsession', but not 'absolute'.


	15. Family

Author's Note: Tt how did the father sneak into the story? Zz. Looks like Canton would have to be delayed again. Also, for the sake of convenience, at certain points Norrington will be referred to in Madras as James. ..;; It'd be back to 'Norrington' at Canton.

Chapter 15

Family

James Norrington was open-mouthed when Jack was ushered into the foyer.

The pirate grinned at him cheekily. "Pleased t'make yer acquaintance again, Commodore." A bath and new clothes did wonders, especially when one explained the nature of the sport to a reluctant First Mate to get some help. Unfortunately, he had to endure more unwelcome comments as to his sanity in exchange for said help, but it'd been worth it, just for the pretty look of wide-eyed astonishment on his Jamie's face, right now. He'd left Anamaria at the _Pearl_ muttering something disparaging about 'men, and their stupid little games'.

Dreadlocks had been (painfully) undone and tidied, hair bound behind his skull with a dark blue ribbon, beads, sea urchin spine and scarf carefully removed and stored back in his cabin. The beard and moustache had been trimmed, and the kohl wiped away. A maroon hat with amazingly fluffy white feathers (or whatever they were, but Jack liked them. Fluffy.) at the crown, cravat, crisp white shirt and a dark red, almost black coat with tasteful pale gold trim at the edges, gold buttons at the thick cuffs, light brown, hugging breeches and (shiny) oxblood boots completed the picture of a young Lord blown in from a casual stroll. The Turner sword was polished bright at his hip, though the pistol was not in occupation. Rings had all been removed, though he wore the one Jamie had given him on a chain under his shirt, callused hands instead enclosed in supple white leather gloves.

A soft groan of exasperation, and a murmured growl – edged, however, with just the faintest hint of suppressed hunger. Evidently, his Jamie very much appreciated the change. "Jack, are you playing games again?"

Jack was about to smirk and talk about bedroom games, but held his tongue when he saw Lord Norrington approach them from down the curving marble stairs, simply exuding friendliness in waves. The stairs swept around a large sculpture of two white horses, rising from the waves, oddly out of place under the elegant crystal chandelier and the boring still-life paintings (Jack would never be able to understand why people would buy and sell in pictures of fruit in bowls on cloth. It wasn't that hard to put some fruit in a bowl and arrange it on some cloth, after all). Heavy mahogany doors were set at the top of the stairs and on the ground floor – at the mezzanine as the stairs met and curled again upwards was a large portrait of a much younger Henry Norrington, standing proudly behind a beautiful woman, who was seated demurely on a stone bench, with James' green eyes and chocolate-brown hair. Two impish looking boys stood at either side of her, the taller with blue eyes, and the shorter with green, both of whom somehow managed to fidget even in oil on canvas.

A butler wordlessly took care of his hat, coat and sword as he removed a glove and shook Lord Norrington's hand. "Thanks fer th'invitation."

"It was no problem, Captain Sparrow," Lord Norrington said silkily. "Please, this way. Dinner is almost ready."

The dining room was even more opulent than the foyer. Another chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, throwing light on gorgeous paintings of harbors around the world – Jack recognized Bombay, Madras, Canton, England (vaguely), New Amsterdam and Port Royal, amongst others. Large French windows were heavily curtained with red velvet, shutting out the view of the sprawling English garden. An oblong mahogany table on plush Persian carpet, with high-backed, cushioned chairs. There was a beautiful model of a warship on a pedestal, sleek and menacing, between two of the curtained windows, which looked vaguely familiar – it took Jack a moment to recall that he'd seen it at the docks. Its name was picked out in gold at the hull – _Poseidon's Wrath_.

"My ship," Norrington Sr. said mildly, and Jack realized that he had been caught admiring the little craft. "Perhaps you saw her in the harbor."

"Don't look like somethin' a man o' yer position would captain, Lord Norrington," Jack drawled the title, and watched the older man smirk briefly in a disturbing replica of James.

"I don't spend all my time stagnating in Bombay," Lord Norrington said, as the butler pulled out chairs for them from the table. "Sometimes it's refreshing to take a cruise around the Indies."

"On a man o' war," Jack noted. Lord Norrington sat at the head of the long table, with Jack on the left and James opposite him. The mahogany table had been covered in a pristine white cloth, on which gold-edged bone china had been layered on heavy silver plates. There was a lot of antique silverware – a confusing amount of forks, spoons and knives – and two crystal glasses of differing sizes. A smoky crystal vase of white roses was wilting a little in the heat, but filled the room with a pleasant scent.

"Of course. The waters can be so dangerous around these parts," Lord Norrington said blandly. "Especially if one accidentally moves close to the Seychelles."

James was silent, his gaze moving between his father and his lover, watching the verbal fencing match with an unreadable expression. He too had been dressed for the occasion, as it were – clean, and in expensive clothes – a blue vest, cravat, starched white shirt with heavy sleeves. Very Naval.

"Dancin' wi' any pirates unlucky enough t'get in th'way of yer admiration o' th'otherwise empty sea?"

"Pirates, among others," Lord Norrington agreed with a benign smile. "Hunting runs in the family, doesn't it, James?"

James blinked, slowly, then his lip curled a little. "Patrolling the sea in the Navy does not even come close to cruising out to pick fights with pirates or the ships of rival countries, Father."

Lord Norrington grinned slyly. "Perhaps so. I beg your pardon."

Dinner proved to be a two-way conversation, as Jack and Lord Norrington competed in finding the most outlandish topics to talk about, ranging from the habits of cannibal tribes in the New World to the sport of Kings in England and Bombay, card games, dolphins and the native fauna on the convict continent of Australia. Jack was enjoying himself, up till the next course after the appetizer and soup – broiled squid, and relatively large ones, almost whole. Little tentacles.

He met Lord Norrington's too-carefully-bland smile with a sharp grin of his own, and speared one with a silver fork. "Me favorite."

"Glad to hear it," Lord Norrington said mildly. "I've heard that the large ones are difficult to find, especially when out of season. Rumor has it, however, that Jamaica has some especially large specimens."

"Right ye are, there," Jack said carefully as he tucked in, "But ye'd find that they be hard t'find, and harder t'catch." James passed on the squid, his expression slightly worried as he looked over the table at Jack, understanding the subtext but puzzled as to why it was there in the first place.

"I'm sure you've seen many stranger sights in your career," Lord Norrington commented, sipping his wine. "And I'd be interested to see how you will add to it, hopefully legally, with your acceptance of the Letter of Marque." A light chuckle. "After I heard that Lord Beckett had acquired one from England, for a Captain Jack Sparrow, I've been wondering exactly what he has been about."

"This an' that," Jack said evasively, as he took a larger helping of the next dish – roast pheasant, cleaned feathers a stylish arc on the silver plate. "Conversion o' Port Royal into another East India Company territory, fer instance."

"Bright chap, Lord Beckett, if a little serious," Lord Norrington noted, then smiled, with a hint of mischief, "He used to get absolutely infuriated at the smallest pranks. And at jokes about his height."

Jack blinked. Pranks? His Jamie was frowning. Ah. "'e does 'ave yet t'develop a better sense o' humor. Though m'wonderin' what ye mean in the way o' pranks."

Pure mischief now, and a hint of an ego to rival Jack's. "Minor things, like misappropriating a shoe or removing important parts of quill nibs. Rearranging documents. Changing black ink in the inkbottle to berry juice." Quickly sobering again. "The wound in his shoulder soured what was left of his humor for the worse, I'm afraid."

Jack was so curious now he was certain it was visible, even though he knew that he shouldn't be letting Lord Norrington lead the conversation. Unwisely, he ignored the warning bells in his mind over the fact that since he was the one who had caused said wound, he should start watching what he said. "Sounds like yer well-acquainted wi' th'notorious Lord Beckett."

James' eyes were fixed on his food, almost as if he were trying to shut out the world, and Jack wondered, idly, if there had been some avoidance of truth going on around when they were at Jamestown. The way he cut slices of fowl into pieces was almost vicious.

"He was stationed in Bombay once," Lord Norrington supplied almost absently, in between mouthfuls of pheasant. "After Barbados, I believe. And before that, we'd met in England, at some soirees. At that time he was merely serious, not bitter. Strict, but not cruel."

Blue eyes that had only previously been playful were now glacial as they looked over at the pirate Captain. Jack smiled, baring his teeth, allowing his sleeve to fall back when he reached for another slice of pheasant, the branded 'P' showing. He all but felt Lord Norrington's eyes on the scar, and then heard the clink of glasses – another sip of wine.

_Major_ avoidance of truth. The game had just changed, and Jack found himself beginning to struggle to keep up.

"Interestin' person, keepin' a pet assassin," Jack noted mildly, ignoring James' warning glance and the kick under the table. Absolutely uncalled for, that. "Though that's a new addition, last I 'eard."

"Mr. Mercer has an accomplished record in the service of King and Country in what is rather crassly referred to as the Great Game," Norrington Sr. was playful again, his moods so abrupt and confusing that Jack found himself actually having to concentrate. "But the pay was not as high as what the East India Company could offer. We're not afraid, unfortunately, to poach from the hand that feeds us, as it were, and his skills in espionage have been very useful."

"Useful attack dog, too," Jack noted offhandedly, "Good fer getting rid o' inconvenient merchant cap'ns."

"And for guarding… valuables," A sidelong glance at James, who didn't catch it, concentrating on his plate. "Useful skill, in the employ of the Company."

That gave Jack an answer to the question he had been thinking about for a long time. Precisely how had one very drunk James Norrington, his judgment clouded by grief and fury, survived his stay in Tortuga, surrounded by his natural enemy? Some of who could recognize him on sight, even under all the filth? Easily, when guarded by someone so deadly, and who, apparently, did not only answer to one Lord Cutler Beckett, but to the East India Company. Jack thought of hidden daggers in brawls, and shadows in alleys, and knew he had been very lucky indeed to leave Port Royal alive.

"Not very good at changin' or misappropriatin' warrants, though," Jack said, in the same bland tone. "Fer th'arrest o' resigned Commodores."

James' head came up sharply. Lord Norrington, however, only chuckled softly, his eyes cold again as he held Jack's gaze evenly. "That is so. But things do tend to work out." Mischievous again, "As you would know very well. I have heard some terribly dramatic stories of how you navigate around the sea on your magic ship with a compass that doesn't point north."

Jack wasn't fooled in the least at Lord Norrington's sudden good nature, and was greatly relieved that he had entrusted his compass to Anamaria before leaving the _Pearl_. He felt he could guess, now, at the other man's game. Likely, even if he had not brought James to Madras, he would still have been accosted, and invited for dinner. The older man however obviously welcomed a wild card on the table, even if said factor was currently eyeing the both of them worriedly again, uncharacteristically clueless. Jack knew, instantly and unequivocally, that Madras was now far too dangerous for them, and wished he'd insisted on Colombo. They had to leave, and soon.

"That be so," Jack smiled however, not revealing any of his sudden apprehension, sipping the fine wine. "The stars be compass enough fer a good sailor. Me First Mate insisted that a real compass be used fer crossin' th'Atlantic, though, an' women just have t'have their way."

Lord Norrington confirmed Jack's suspicion in the nature of the game by not asking about Anamaria – a woman as a first mate would have been a far bigger curiosity than the issue of a malfunctioning compass, had he not been interested in that. "Did you truly acquire it from a voodoo queen?" The mischief was still there, as though he were a boy asking about adventure stories. "We hear so many stories here about the 'Scourge of the Caribbean'."

"M'don't think I deserve that sort o' title," Jack said self-deprecatingly, choosing to ignore the question, the side of one lip quirking to show that he knew what Lord Norrington was at. Blue eyes narrowed slightly as the older man understood that he had slipped, but unfortunately plates were cleared and coffee served, at that point, allowing him time to regain his composure. James' expression, too, was now tightly controlled – he had caught on then, his Jamie.

What did Lord Norrington want the compass for? Jack was _very_ tired of all this sudden interest from Lords of the East India Company, chasing him around for the damned thing. For some odd agenda of his own? For Beckett? Jack supposed he didn't much care, but he hoped fervently, with a sudden cold chill up his spine, that there were no other Mr. Mercers around Madras, or if there were, that Anamaria still slept with her knives under her pillow. He took his coffee black, needing to clear his mind.

--

After coffee, they were shown into a gentleman's parlor for cigars, with crossed swords over an empty fireplace (decorative, likely, given how hot Madras was), and paintings of hunting in England. There was a very good portrait next to one of the curtained windows of Jamie, in his Commodorial outfit, and another next to it in the finery of a Lord out for a day of foxhunting, likely the brother Matthew. A bookshelf of leather bound tomes filled one wall, and fine carpets of Turkish make draped the ground. Plush, heavily upholstered chairs were in a semicircle fanning out from the fireplace, and the carved table had a selection of sugar biscuit. James arched an eyebrow at him in warning when he looked curiously at the small antique clock on the mantelpiece, but Jack knew he had to keep his fingers to himself, anyway, or lose more ground.

More trivial topics of conversation – trade routes, Jamaican culture, sea birds. No mention of what they were here for, nor did he even ask about Miss Swann, despite her previous engagement to James, or any talk of the Navy.

It was late outside, and Jack was getting annoyed, wondering how to extricate himself from the too-polite atmosphere and return to the _Black Pearl_, preferably with all body parts still attached. The cigars were good, but he was beginning to miss even the stench of the harbor with its refuse.

Thankfully, James was the one to provide his cue, with an almost exaggerated glance out of the window. "Father, it's getting late, and I am sure Captain Sparrow wishes to return to his ship."

"Oh. You must forgive me," Lord Norrington said earnestly. "I'm afraid I lost track of time. The offer of hospitality still stands, of course, if you feel it is too late to return to the harbor. I can send a man to inform your crew."

"M'sure I'd be fine," Jack said, rising. It was an old trick that had been pulled – delay, distraction – and he knew Lord Norrington would expect him to evade it easily. But for what purpose? "Thanks fer th'thought, though."

His Jamie was frowning, evidently having connected the question of Mr. Mercer and the possibility that he was not the only assassin in the employ of the East India Company. "It's late. I'd accompany you back, Captain. Besides, I left some of my personal effects in the ship when leaving so hastily this morning. No doubt we can briefly borrow a carriage." Meeting his father's eyes steadily. "I'd return in the morning, for breakfast."

A pause, then a bright smile. "Of course, I'd ring for Roberts to make the arrangements. Captain Sparrow is also invited for breakfast tomorrow."

Jack shrugged, and smiled without agreeing or disagreeing. The butler appeared at the bell, and nodded at the quiet instructions, before leaving. Lord Norrington led them to the foyer. Another pleasant smile. "Thank you for coming, Captain Sparrow. James."

"No problems," Jack said, wondering what was next.

Lord Norrington studied a painting of rolling English hills, set at the start of the marble balustrade. "_Poseidon's Wrath_ is a fine ship, and she'd measure well to your _Pearl_."

A playful quirk to the lips, when Jack didn't even blink at this apparent non sequitur. "Good night, the both of you."

--

The warship _Poseidon's Wrath_ was anchored dangerously close to his _Black Pearl_. Jack frowned over the rail at it, and especially at the hatches that marked where the cannons were. Impressive number of cannons. The couple of ships between them had been moved, while he was at dinner. Lights aboard _Poseidon's Wrath_ and the occasional movement of lanterns showed that the _Pearl_ was being watched closely. Norrington growled out an oath at the sight, and stormed away into the cabin.

Anamaria approached, and handed him his compass. "Trouble, Jack? Dat big old ship, she look mighty suspicious t'me."

"Aye. Bad trouble." He gave her a brief overview of dinner.

She frowned. "Jack, ye always 'ave the knack o' attractin' problems when we least expect it, or need it. How're we going t'get out o' dis one?"

He didn't as yet have an answer to that. "Get someone t'watch that ship at all times. An' t'make sure nobody comes too near th'_Pearl_. Loadin' 'as t'be done wi' our own crew. Oh, an' watch those men we picked up from Seychelles closely. Make sure they never alone."

"Already done, Cap'n, when the ships 'tween us moved off down th'harbor, just like dat, when ye were gone. Suspected somethin' was up. M'not First Mate fer nothin'." Pursed, full lips. "Those cannons be awful close. We canna weigh anchor in time."

"I knows that," Jack patted the rail, as if to assure his ship. "Lemme think. We still need t'resupply, an' do some refitting. Few days yet."

"Think fast," Anamaria advised him, fingering her knives as she looked over at the warship.

--

Norrington had undressed to shirt and breeches, new clothes strewn on the deck instead of folded with his normal neatness, and was curled up in bed, back to the door. Jack watched him thoughtfully for a while, and then did the same, though placing his effects on the table, spooning up behind him and nuzzling his neck. There was a stifled, wounded sound, and the pirate was pinned on his back and kissed roughly, desperately, wrists held to either side of his head.

Jack was chuckling breathlessly when they broke for air, the panting weight on him not shifting off. "T'aint even a day o' bein' away, an' ye miss me already?"

Green eyes drifted to the porthole, where the lights from _Poseidon's Wrath_ were visible, then looked down to Jack's collarbone. A sigh. "Jack. Be serious. How are we going to get out of this?"

"Mebbe there be some shops 'round here that sell a compass wot looks like mine," Jack suggested playfully, experimentally moving his hips.

"Don't put my father on the same level as Beckett, Jack," Norrington warned, unmoved by the wriggling. "He only seems less dangerous because he likes to encourage others to underestimate him. He likes to play with other people – push their buttons, manipulate them, just out of sheer mischief."

"Seems like there's a lot that ye didn't tell old Jack, 'bout yer family," Jack said gently. "An' yer 'eavy, mate."

Norrington shifted his weight, but kept the wrists pinned down. "It wasn't necessary to. Besides, you refused to tell me much about your own past."

"Didn't expect yer da' t'do this though, did ye? We could'a so easily gone t'Bombay 'stead o' here, if ye had yer way."

"No. I didn't. I thought that… that whatever he had… was… might have had with Lord Beckett was over when the man transferred out of Bombay. Especially with the… the business of the warrant for my arrest. Lord Beckett didn't even mention Father at all when I went back to Port Royal. The letters from India, they also stopped mentioning him altogether." Pretty lips were trembling, but were also annoyingly out of reach. "Jack. I'm sorry."

"What fer?"

"For… for causing us to come here. Instead of Colombo."

Jack let out a deep sigh. "T'aint yer fault, mate. If I recall, Anamaria was th'one who caused us t'come here. 'Sides, 'ow were ye t'know that 'e'd be in Madras?"

"I should have guessed. Him having agents in Liberté, watching the harbor – it would only be natural, in his line of work. Especially given his favorite… sport." Distaste. Of course. His Jamie hunted pirates to hang, for their crimes, a quick death – _short drop, sudden stop_. Norrington Sr. hunted them to blow them out of the water, like shooting foxes. "Even if we somehow escaped, we may be hunted. The _Pearl_ may be faster than _Poseidon's Wrath_, but we'd have to dock sooner or later."

"Doubt 'e'd turn th'cannons on a ship wi' you on it, Jamie-luv," Jack pointed out.

"I don't know. He's changed, Jack. Even more so than when my mother passed away. I didn't even realize it from the letters. It's only a wonder that he didn't intercept you when you used this route, the last time."

"Only stopped in Madras fer a day, mate. Resupply we did at Colombo," Jack recalled absently. "An' on the return trip, didn't stop at Madras at all."

A tremor, then a soft kiss on his forehead. "I don't like the odds."

"Mm. Need rum." Jack said, with another glance out of the porthole. He had the inkling of a Plan, but it wasn't shaping up properly. Besides, the warm weight on top of him was distracting.

A wry smile. "If you're coming up with another insane idea, let me vet it first, at least. I don't enjoy surprises."

"Don't want to. But I could be persuaded t'tell," Jack grinned suggestively. "Since ye smell so nicely o' soap at th'moment, makes a man fair want t'bite."

A soft laugh, then the Commodore's voice turned into a deep purr. Smoldering green eyes raked his face and the expensive, half-open shirt. "I like the new look."

"Enjoy it while ye can, it's back t'the old one soon as we're out o' Madras." Jack smirked, when Norrington immediately pouted.

"Non-negotiable?" A lazy roll of the hips that quickened Jack's breathing.

"Sorry mate, but yer welcome t'try."

Norrington moved, pulling both wrists above Jack's head and holding them there. "Can you keep your hands there, Jack?"

"Or what?"

"Or you retain this look until we're a day away from Canton." A kiss on the tip of his nose. "However, if you win, and manage to keep your hands up while we play, I may be amenable to that idea you had previously about the brig." Green eyes gleamed in open challenge.

"Sure, mate," Jack smiled, wickedly, then frowned when Norrington got off him and moved to the dresser where the headscarf was folded. "Don't need that, love. M'already said."

"It's not for your wrists, Jack," Norrington said, his expression predatory.

Jack's eyes widened.

Blindfolded, he already had to keep his hands from twitching down. He gripped one wrist tightly and reminded his brain to pay attention, even as his shirt was slowly unbuttoned and pushed up to his elbows. Warm hands ran slowly up his chest, and he had no warning at all as a warm tongue flicked abruptly at a nipple. He hissed. "James… that's cheatin', that is."

"What is?" Norrington asked innocently, in between nips and suckles. Jack was panting, blindfolded head pushed into the pillows, arms trembling.

"The blindfold, mate," Jack managed to gasp, arching his body into the warm mouth. A chuckle in answer, as lips moved to the other nipple, kissing a wet path. Jack felt the emerald ring that hung around his neck being pressed into his flesh, at one point – a kiss over it. One hand slid down his back, to cup and squeeze his rump, then push hips up sharply to meet an already impressive swell in Norrington's breeches.

Hot puffs over his ribs, the head moving down as his Jamie spoke, dryly, "Not as bad as what happened at the helm, in my opinion."

"T'aint nothin' at stake then," Jack growled, trying to concentrate on keeping his hands put as the breath moved down to his navel. "Just play."

"You like games far too much, Jack," Norrington replied, working slowly, frustratingly so, on his breeches. "That's why you get into so much trouble."

Jack bucked insistently, pouting. "Yer not going t'win if ye talk so much, love."

Norrington laughed, the air hot now over his shaft as it was freed slowly. A teasing lick made Jack arch, and curse. "Patience, Jack."

Breeches were removed and, by the sounds of it, dumped next to the bed. Jack gasped, and then whined, at the slow licks that explored his arousal, the base, the balls. Flicks of the tongue along inner thighs, hands massaging his legs, an exhalation of air over the curls at the base. Lips back on the shaft, such that Jack didn't notice the absence of hands until oiled fingers traced his opening. "Jamie…" Pleading, already. Jack bit his lip, reminding himself of the Brig Idea and why he definitely wanted to win this round. However, images of Norrington dressed in Naval finery and chained up to be debauched (legs open, hat askew, lips parted) were certainly not lessening his arousal or aiding his concentration in any way – the opposite, in fact.

A chuckle, then he was swallowed, just as two fingers crooked into him. Jack howled, unable to keep from bucking, back arching into a bow off the bed, then writhing as Norrington began to suckle, growling when the deep purr from the other man produced the most delicious vibration, attempting to buck into the heat or deeper onto long, thrusting fingers. Another was added, then another – in the darkness feeling so much sweeter, so numbingly intense. Somewhere along the line he realized that he was begging, breathlessly, profanely, "_Jamie_ please… fuck, _God_, Jamie… _please_!"

Fingers twisted, a hot tongue wrapping and swirling upwards, and Jack wailed as he was swept off the edge, arching again, then slumping back on the bed, choking and panting, boneless. The blindfold slipped, allowing him some partial vision.

Between his legs, Norrington smirked up at him, licking his lips. "I won."

Jack registered belatedly that his own fingers were twisted in chocolate-brown hair, having tugged much of it out of the ribbon. He pushed his head into the pillow and groaned, yanking the sash off his eyes.

"Now, about that idea you were talking about…"

"Don't remember anythin' now, mate, an' t'aint my fault fer that," Jack said sullenly, attempting to catch his breath. Norrington chuckled, moving up to kiss him tenderly, soft flicks of a tongue against his lips, the other man's still-clothed arousal hot against Jack's thigh.

"When you come up with one, then." A sexy smile. Jack swallowed. "You did suggest you were amenable to persuasion."

"S'true," Jack muttered, even as he bared his neck to allow Norrington to nip him, his arms stroking up the other man's back. "We'd be th'death o' each other."

"Mm," His Jamie pinched his rump, provoking a yelp. "Terms. Or I may be tempted to negotiate for this 'look' to become permanent."

"Don't ye dare," Jack growled, pushing at the heavier body, which didn't budge. Norrington nuzzled his shoulder, chuckling.

"But you look adorable." A brief glance upwards, a wink. "Especially with those gloves."

"Mate, I suspect yer kinkier than all th'denizens o' Tortuga," Jack poked him on one still-clothed arm. "Must be that wig. Didn'a know ye had a thing fer debauchin' toffs."

Norrington smirked, even as a hand, snaking between them, elicited a gasp from the pirate. "Only you, Jack."


	16. Axioms

Author's Note: doh. The Madras part took far longer than it should.

Chapter 16

Axioms

"I think we should bring the compass."

Jack looked at Norrington in disbelief, as he dressed slowly in what he now thought of as his 'poncy toff' costume. Wet cloth, a basin of drinking water and soap had taken care of the evidence of last night's proclivities, and he was busy attempting to tie his hair back without the help of his First Mate. Anamaria had summarily refused to be involved any further in this aspect of what she called 'dat bloody stupid game yer playin' wot got us into trouble again', instead having taken to standing at the wheel and glowering at _Poseidon's Wrath_, as if hoping it would spontaneously combust. "M'going t'assume that yer mind's still in a dither due t'last night, love."

There was a chuckle, and then long fingers picked the ribbon from his fingers, and his hair was tied back efficiently, gently. "No, Jack. I meant, we could prove… er, show my father. What happens when I hold it."

"An' ye be assumin' now that yer da' will suddenly think, 'Th'compass shows these two men are meant t'be, an' I should leave them alone to it?'" Jack drawled, as he affixed cravat and pulled on his coat, tugging shirt sleeves through the stiffer fabric.

"It's worth a shot," Norrington's fingers now rested on his waist, chin perched on his shoulders as he watched Jack put on the white gloves, stolen property, like most of his costume. There was an involuntary purr.

Jack laughed, leaning back into the warm body, twirling gloved fingers. "Pervert."

"Pots and kettles, Jack," Norrington smirked, pressing a soft kiss against the shell of his ear.

"'Tis still 'no'," Jack informed him, buckling his Turner sword at his hip, a little difficult when he had to stretch the belt between them. "Too risky."

"I'm beginning to wonder whether you're obsessed with your compass, as well as your ship," Norrington said dryly.

"Th'ship, th'compass that don't work, they be a part o' me," Jack patted one aristocratic hand, silently informing Norrington that they had better be going, before Norrington Sr. got restive. "Comes wi' th'package. M'feel right naked wi'out either."

"The trappings of a pirate."

"T'aint just _any _pirate now, mate," Jack tilted his head so he could look at Norrington through the corner of his eye.

"Don't say it," Norrington warned, flicking his tongue against the ear.

"Say what?"

"Anything about being '_Captain_… Jack Sparrow'," Norrington imitated Jack's drawling baritone.

"T'aint no need to when ye do it so well." Jack pulled free of the gentle grasp and sauntered out onto deck, tipping his hat at the warship still anchored so close to them that proudly flew both the flags of England and the British East India Company. Clearer in the morning light, Jack could see that a crest was painted next to the name on the hull – a shield with a rampant lion, half-curled around a sword. There was even some sort of motto, which he couldn't make out.

"Latin," Norrington said, coming out into the sun behind him. "Translates to 'Justice with Grace, Duty with Honor'. Fairly typical."

"Hm," Jack murmured thoughtfully – shouldn't it be Justice with Mercy? However, at least in his Jamie's case, this particular phrasing seemed so much more appropriate, as a family crest. He tapped at his lip, then tipped his hat again, this time at Anamaria, who was coming down from the bridge. From her expression, it looked as though she hadn't been able to get much sleep. "G'mornin'."

"I've sent someone t'get some rum, an' I'd be handlin' the rest o' the trade an fittings," she said, with a perfunctory nod at him, then at Norrington. "Try not t'make things any worse wi' the nob. Both of ye."

Jack slipped her the compass, in the act of apparently patting her on the back. From the soft sigh he heard behind him, he knew Norrington had noticed, but he ignored that. "Ye be careful yerself, too."

"Well now, dat be the first time ye've expressed doubts as t'me ability t'take care o' meself, Cap'n," Anamaria smirked, the compass disappearing into her inner coat, and tossed her hair, proud and queenly, before pointed over her shoulder at the waiting carriage, with its snorting, spirited horses. "Ye best be off now. Dat old cart been waitin' dere fer a while."

--

Lord Norrington was leaning against a marble balustrade, fingers splayed, back turned to the door, studying the large family portrait, not even turning around when they entered the foyer. He was dressed considerably more informally for the morning – a pale blue, loose shirt, and khaki breeches. Jack watched him warily as the butler efficiently made off with their coats, hats and gear, then finally said, "G'mornin'. Breakfast?"

The graying head bowed briefly, but when Lord Norrington turned to them, he was all warm smiles. "Sleep well? It's rather hot in India at the moment, I'm afraid."

"Well enough," Jack said, with a smile that didn't quite touch his eyes. "T'will be better when we get back t'the sea, as ye say, it's a little too hot in India t'be enjoyable."

"Quite, quite, and no doubt you're eager to set sail again." Blue eyes flickered between the both of them, and then they were ushered with a playful, elaborate twist of a hand to the dining room.

Warm bread, jam, butter, kippers, porridge, fruit, eggs, sausages and bacon had all been set out on an impressive array of plates. Jack helped himself liberally to everything, but James settled on eggs and bacon, silent again, listening to his lover and father again discuss an absolutely random variety of topics with badly hidden apprehension. Jack was better armed today, having briefly looked through some of the books James had insisted on buying from Liberté, though he occasionally wished that Barbossa was here. Better in an extended verbal fencing match, was his ex-First Mate, as good or better than he was with a sword.

Jack decided around coffee to progress the game a little. "Seems like I didn't answer yer question yesterday, mate."

"I beg your pardon?" Lord Norrington asked, arching an eyebrow as he put down his coffee, the delicate cup clinking against the saucer.

"'Bout me compass," Jack ignored the sudden frown from James. "I did get it from a voodoo witch. Name o' Tia Dalma, specializes in potions, magic gewgaws an' advice."

Lord Norrington, however, had obviously recovered from whatever little control he had let slip last night, and only smiled benignly. "Fascinating, these native superstitions. Have you actually observed any truth to them, or do you feel as the British do, that it is mere trickery?"

"There be some things they do that can't be explained by trickery, m'thinks," Jack said, mildly impressed that Lord Norrington now showed not the least amount of curiosity about the compass at all, not even in his eyes. "An' as th'Commodore 'ere can tell ye, m'good at trickery."

James blinked at the sound of his title, then shrugged. "Tricks of diversion," he said dismissively.

"The _Interceptor_, I heard. A clever sort of diversion," Lord Norrington said, now watching his son.

A twitch at the jaw, pretty head dipping briefly. "If I wasn't so worried about the potential if unlikely theft of the _Dauntless_, it would never have happened."

"Ah, the _Dauntless_. Fine ship." James was silent, taking sips of hot coffee, eyes fixed on the platter of cooling bread, emotion only evident in his tensing frame. Jack wondered, managing not to frown, what Lord Norrington was at now, and realized he'd lost leadership of the conversation again.

"Yer _Poseidon's Wrath_ be more impressive, m'think," Jack said, then grinned cheekily, "Though she be summat low in th'water. Top 'eavy?"

Lord Norrington arched an eyebrow, his lips quirking up. "Effective enough in the hunt, I assure you, Captain Sparrow."

"Bet she can't keep up wi' me _Pearl_ in open water," Jack countered, keeping his tone light, as if in jest.

"I've heard many reports of your famous ship," Lord Norrington agreed easily, "But would you go up against a ship like mine in the open water?"

"Not unless I knew I 'ad some other tricks up me sleeve," Jack replied – coffee with sugar and milk, this morning. "Better t'run, since ye won't be able t'catch me."

"Ah, but given your ship's superiority in speed, doesn't that tempt you sometimes to play with the predator?" Lord Norrington said mildly, "Slowing down to taunt the stronger ship, leading her on chases, perhaps even to her doom. Cards up your sleeve."

Jack smiled, baring his teeth, as he grasped where this was going. A different game today, already - no, not different. Related. "Lots o' choices there, mate. Takes two t'dance."

"I've seen cats tease dogs till perfectly bred hunting animals lose all their reason," Lord Norrington didn't look at his son, his tone making it seem as though he were just toying with the topic out of abstract curiosity. "Fault, then, does it lie with the cat's amoral sense of fun, or with the dog's instinct to chase?"

"With animals, in neither," James suddenly cut in, his voice tightly controlled, icy. "With men, the fault would lie in intent and judgment." A glance at Jack, then at his father. "The better man would be the one who had acted without malice, than the one who acted out of ambition and emotion. The one who knew the limits of his ship, and acted within it. The one who did not risk the lives of his men."

Still touchy on the topic, his Jamie. Jack cocked his head to the side and leaned his head on one hand, and looked to Lord Norrington. Who smiled earnestly at his son, as if in surprise. "James, we were but discussing the relative merits of the _Black Pearl_ and _Poseidon's Wrath_. If you thought that…"

"No, Father, you've been playing the both of us since we've arrived," a growl, flashing green eyes meeting unyielding blue, ignoring Jack's frantically waving hands. "What do you want? As I've said, Captain Sparrow and I have an honor-debt to pay, to friends, past Madras. Let us be."

Amazing – there was actually somebody who could be worse at the act and manner of parley than young Mr. Turner. Admittedly when tried past his patience and upset over verbal sparring, but… "Now, Commodore," he tried to say, in his most wheedling voice, but was interrupted by Lord Norrington, who was looking at his coffee.

"Captain Sparrow. I do beg your pardon for cutting breakfast short, but it seems that I must needs have words with my son. In private." A breath. "If it's not too inconvenient for you, my butler can now arrange for your departure back to the harbor, in my carriage."

Jack looked up at James, who nodded, slightly. Then he turned to Lord Norrington, getting to his feet and bowing with imprecision, playfully. "Be seein' ye then, Lord Norrington. Commodore."

--

Back at the _Black Pearl_, Jack changed back to as much of his original costume as he could without breaking the bet, and sat against the wheel, drinking a bottle of rum that Anamaria had wordlessly pressed into his hand as soon as he'd boarded the ship. His crew occasionally shot glances at him, obviously waiting for sparks of genius.

Assuming, of course, that Lord Norrington was not merely simply toying with the both of them, introducing little tidbits like a potential previous relationship with Beckett or that _Dauntless_ remark just to see how they would react… the simplest and most obvious conclusion was that the man did in fact want the compass (the way he hadn't talked at all about it today was also telling), possibly for Beckett, and he was also, concurrently, worried about the moral state of his son's soul, associating with a pirate. _Justice with Grace, Duty with Honor_. Likely his Jamie thought that talk of an honor-debt could get them free from this little problem of that hulking warship looming over his bonnie black one – but a rather naïve thought, that was. Besides, it meant that he was forgetting the first part of the motto. _Justice _– evidently, Lord Norrington thought Jack was at fault for the downfall of his son. Or he would like him to believe.

After parting ways with Barbossa, Jack hadn't met anybody worthy of properly playing the game with, and so he felt rather annoyingly rusty. The rum, however, was helping. A free hand stroked the deck, affectionately, then went up to his neck and pulled out the chained emerald ring, which he held up to the sun. He realized he'd never asked James where the man had gotten that from – it hadn't looked like something the jewelers of Port Royal would stock. A gift to the potential Mrs Norrington, perhaps? But it was of fairly masculine design. Curious.

And irrelevant, Jack reminded himself. Think. Big warship. Lots of cannons. Anchored _Black Pearl_.

He looked over at the crowd of sightseers that was ever present – since the two most interesting ships in the harbor were docked so close to each other – and abruptly, he had a Plan.

Anamaria was at his side nearly immediately when he'd put the rum on the deck with an audible thump, matching Jack's wicked smile with a slow one of her own. "Ye got a plan, Cap'n?"

"Aye." And he told her. She laughed.

--

Jack knew he was likely being closely watched, at least when he was on the _Pearl_, and he moved below decks. Moments later, Anamaria had pulled in one of the crew they had picked off Barbados, a man who was roughly about Jack's build and height. They spent a short while explaining to him the pertinent part of the Plan that required his help, and he agreed – a fine streak of piratical mischief, in that lad.

Over the next couple of days, members of the crew were encouraged to go to taverns and listen, or ask about, discreetly if they could, the sailors of importance aboard _Poseidon's Wrath_, especially with regards to their families, their inclinations, their loyalties and such.

Jack openly made his rounds of the traders, finding that they were, indeed, suddenly far more friendly to a privateer of a suspicious-looking ship, and in fact asked him a lot more questions than they usually did, about his route, his cargo, his crew.

The sailors of _Poseidon's Wrath_ were shocked to realize that the slim, agile First Mate of the ship they were supposed to be watching, was in fact a woman, of color, and a very attractive one, who smiled prettily and confessed that she was terribly bored, and could they show her around their ship and chat a little? Since she was kept to guard duty while the Cap'n was out and about, and the warship looked right impressive, not to mention all the smart uniforms they wore…

Opium was traded ahead of schedule, and more opium than he had actually traded for, in fact. The trader looked slightly disappointed when Jack announced firmly that he only trusted his own crew to load things aboard his beloved ship.

Jack declined invitations to dinner, pleading business. He spent time speaking with his crew, especially with those who had done the rounds of the taverns. Aboard the _Black Pearl_, he only dined with Anamaria, while they discussed what they had both learned each day. Anamaria noted that the First Mate of the warship was the 'andsome sort, and looked speculative. Arguments, amusement, agreements.

James returned late one night, in a poor mood, and was not amenable to play, or chat, holding Jack tightly as he fell into a fitful sleep, as if afraid that the slighter man would disappear, at any moment. He left again early the next day, though not after noticing one of the empty rum bottles left over from the previous day's scheming, and demanding to know what Jack was up to. The roguish smile had been met with a growl, but James was distracted, as he'd had to go back to the townhouse.

While someone dressed remarkably like Captain Sparrow, though wearing a wide-brimmed hat, was wandering in a passable imitation of a drunken swagger about the _Black Pearl_, the real Jack, wearing the rough homespun garb of a small-time fisherman (regrettable thievery), haggled with a supply merchant, long enough to garner important details about the location and security of the pertinent warehouses.

The very pretty First Mate of the _Black Pearl_ was back regularly at _Poseidon's Wrath_, so charmingly fascinated with the rich trappings of an East India Company ship that one day the warship's own First Mate was glad to show her into the currently unoccupied Captain's cabin, where she exclaimed artlessly over the opulence. She then abruptly engaged him in an extremely technical discussion on the workings of a galleon compared to the warship, and while he was peering out of a porthole at the _Black Pearl_ to consider one of her more radical points, paper was quietly appropriated.

Jack studied a very boring, half-finished letter written in Lord Norrington's hand, something about trade distinctions between Bombay and Madras, and proceeded, very carefully, to forge the neat writing on appropriated notepaper bearing the impressive logo of the British East India Company. He'd finished by the time James was back, and had hidden his work, though it was obvious that James still suspected something amiss.

Jack, however, presented too pretty a picture slumped in his chair, shirt half open, gloved hands on the arms, legs spread, pouting his displeasure at the inattention, that the Commodore forgot to get along to demanding what he had been up to. James also didn't notice the sleeping powder in the water on the dresser when he took a drink afterwards, tired from sex.

With his double on the ship, Jack stole off again the next morning, and delivered the forgeries to select merchant-trader offices. There was immediate and utter confusion.

Around the same time, several new laborers, hard up for cash, showed up to work at the supplies warehouse, along with the regulars. In the mayhem that spread from nearby trader offices, some crates of foodstuffs and water went quietly missing.

The warship _Poseidon's Wrath_ was instantly in disarray when merchant-traders approached it, each brandishing a very official-looking letter and demanding to be let aboard at once, to see Lord Norrington. At the same time, several ships tried to dock between the _Black Pearl_ and the warship – or indeed, as close to the warship as possible. Apparently, there was an incoming Dutch East India Company naval strike from Colombo, the letter said, and had asked said merchant-traders not to panic and leave Madras for fear of disrupting the local economy, or some sort of matter. Denials from the bewildered crew only increased the panic.

The First Mate of _Poseidon's Wrath_ watched, helplessly, as the _Black Pearl_ weighed anchor – unable to give the order to open fire amidst so many people and ships, but he smiled to himself.

Out in open water, a warship moved into their path, flying the flag of parley. Jack squinted into the distance, and cursed as he saw the outline of yet another ship, waiting. He'd forgotten that when hunting foxes, there was indeed a hunter, but one caught them with hounds.

--

"Captain Jack Sparrow," Lord Norrington got up from his desk and clasped his hands before him, when Jack was shown into the captain's cabin of the warship _No Redemption_. "A pretty mess you've made of Madras."

"Sorry 'bout that, mate, but ye wanted t'make a pretty mess o' me ship," Jack said with an impish smile. "Didn't realize ye 'ad quite th'armada."

"I admit to being disappointed in you, Captain," Lord Norrington said playfully. "I'd expected you to somehow make a run for it earlier. _Redemption_ and _Last Dance_ have been sitting out here for _days_. What did you give James as a sedative?"

"Nothin' dangerous," Jack said mildly. "He'd wake up in a couple hours, right as rain. If a little pissed."

A chuckle, then Lord Norrington sat back in his chair, waving for Jack to sit down in turn. "So, Captain, what do you think I'd want to do now?"

"I was waitin' fer ye t'tell me," Jack replied, slumping in the provided chair, crossing his boots up on the mahogany desk. "But I s'pose that if I were ye, an' liked shootin' people wi' cannons, I'd be demandin' fer the return of me son, give th'pirate some time t'get out o' range, an' then start th'hunt. 'ow many ships ye have, Lord Norrington? Enough t'catch me _Pearl_ wi' a proper headstart?"

"Capital, Sparrow, capital," Lord Norrington smiled, clapping his hands slowly. "That was more or less exactly what I had originally intended to do with you and your _Pearl_, when I heard that you were on your way from Liberté. And no, the fox doesn't get to know how many hounds are used on the chase, or their pedigree."

"What changed?"

"James," Lord Norrington's expression stayed playful. "I didn't know you brought James – could never have expected that. My agents didn't mention anything about it at all. Even though, come to think of it, his correspondence never failed to mention your escapades in his jurisdiction. And despite all evidence pointing to the fact that you are a thief, a liar, a scoundrel, a pirate, likely insane, amoral, infuriating and capricious, for some reason I cannot fathom my son is utterly in love with you. Another man."

"An'?" Jack raised an eyebrow. That had been an impressive list of his traits.

"And so you can see my dilemma as a father, when the son is set to repeat his greatest mistakes," Lord Norrington smiled sharply. "Perhaps someday too, James will want a family, want adorable little boys to love who will call him father, whom he can take around his warship and teach them how to ride, to swim, to shoot, to fence, to live – he will meet an enchanting lady who won't run off with dashing blacksmiths – and he'd settle down, or try to. But there'd be you. And perhaps you'd both try to stay friends, for a while – acquaintances, or even stay away from each other, put an ocean between you. But a castle of cards built on want and social decree can fall, too easily."

"So, yer sayin' I should break things off?" Jack said, looking out of the porthole at the dark hull of his _Pearl_, up against the warship, then back at Lord Norrington.

Lord Norrington chuckled, mirthlessly. "If the son is anything like the father, then that wouldn't be simple now, would it? Hunters don't let go of things they catch easily, or with any good grace."

"An' ye be settin' up this net just so ye can give me a good talkin' to?" Jack let his gaze wander around the cabin. "Nice place, this. Ye get some o' th'trappings from blown up pirate ships?"

"I'm not one of those people who like to hang up the brushes of foxes as trophies," Lord Norrington said dryly. "But yes, I did arrange things so as to make sure you'd have to speak with me. Firstly, I'd like to know, with as little embellishment as you can manage, exactly what has happened ever since James resigned his commission and headed off to Tortuga."

Jack was getting a little tired of telling this particular story, but he obliged. After a few dry corrections whenever he attempted to embellish certain parts, he realized that although the other man didn't know the whole story, he knew enough pertinent facts, at least up until the Kraken had pulled down his ship. The bit involving Lord Beckett made Lord Norrington smile, faintly, in amusement, and Jack thought about wicked streaks and unpredictability. Finally, he concluded with an outline of their quest, though he glossed over their next ports of call. He also, as a matter of prudence, left out any mention of debauchery.

Finally, Lord Norrington leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the arm, his eyes slightly unfocused – just as James' became, whenever he was deep in thought. "I see. Thank you."

"No problems. Can we go now?"

A smirk, eerily like his lover's. "Not quite yet, Captain Sparrow."

"Mad 'bout what I did t'yer Lord Beckett?" Jack asked, casually. "T'was only a shot in th'shoulder, an' I didn't intend t'kill him, even after what 'e did t'me an' me kin."

"I know that much, Captain Sparrow," Norrington's manner didn't change in the least. "I knew that a boy, deeply grieved over witnessing his adoptive 'family' hung for piracy, should have been set free, to be given another chance due to his youth, without being branded an outlaw for the rest of his life. And that the shot had not been made in malice, nor with murderous intentions, but in self-defence. I cannot, however, stop resenting you for the change you caused. But that isn't what I had you brought here to talk about."

"What is, then?" Jack blinked. The recount had been mostly accurate.

A deprecatory grin. "I'm afraid I'd have to ask about your intentions towards my son."

There were a lot of salacious things that immediately came to mind, but Jack settled on some of the more mundane ones. "Get him safely back t'Port Royal, after o' all this. An' wait fer him t'decide on what 'e wants t'do." A fluid shrug. "M' capable o' comin' t' a compromise. But 'e's been 'avin' problems wi' th'pirate thing."

"And what if he decides to call it all off?" Lord Norrington asked, his eyes searching.

Jack suppressed the cold twist of pain just that suggestion had wrought in his gut, and shrugged again. "Then I s'pose I'd be off t'visit North Carolina. Never been there, meant t'go take a look sometime."

Lord Norrington wasn't shaken from the scent. "But you'd stay in the Caribbean. Most months."

"Paradise on earth, mate. An' I believe ye implied that real distance won't make a whit o' difference."

"Touché," Lord Norrington said, with an incline of his head.

"But I also think that if 'e ever 'ad little 'uns an' a good lass, 'e won't be runnin' around after me," Jack observed, as he looked at the neat correspondence on the desk. "Duty wi' Honor. So ye don't really 'ave t'worry much 'bout th'sins o' th'father, an' such."

Another wry smile. "Perhaps." A deep sigh. "Captain Jack Sparrow. I'm afraid that you're free to go."

"What? I mean, really?" Jack sat up straight, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "If ye be huntin' me, t'be sure I'd sink at least one o' yer bonny ships, if cornered again."

"No," Lord Norrington smiled, wanly. "For some reason, Captain Sparrow, despite you possessing all of the previous deficient traits of character and more, I _also_ find myself instinctively liking you."

"Ye warmed up t'me, that's all," Jack drawled playfully, though some of his now hidden wariness was likely still obvious to sharp blue eyes.

"And therefore," the other man continued, as if he hadn't heard that, "I suppose I'd have to let the two of you have your little adventure in Canton." A smirk, when Jack blinked slowly. "James isn't very good at lying to his father, sad to say. Never has. Afterwards, I expect you to keep and guard the heart of a fine man with as much devotion and ingenuity as you show your black ship." A glance down at his correspondence. "Otherwise you may find that I do not only hunt foxes in the Indies."

"Agreed," Jack said, knowing that despite Lord Norrington's lighthearted demeanor, it had cost the other man much to say that, to set them both free to find their own ways.

Justice, with grace.


	17. Reunion

Author's note: sorry, couldn't resist after all.

Chapter 17

Reunion

Jack was slapped in Singapore.

--

Canton harbor, sitting on the Pearl River a little inland from the South China Sea, was crowded with the distinctive shapes of Chinese junks – elliptical sails, softwood hulls, and crewed by any number of bronze-skinned men with odd, long black pigtails down their back, who watched them suspiciously with slanted eyes as they were directed to the British part of the docks. Jack let out an expulsion of air as he saw the distinctive shape of the galleon _Lady Luck_, exactly like the sketch, her sails furled as she sat sedately at the dock.

There were shouts from the other ship when the _Black Pearl_ cruised into place, and they had barely put down the gangplank when William and Elizabeth had scrambled aboard, not even bothering to ask for permission, or even checking for undead crew, half-fish crew and the like. And froze, staring at the helm, mouths open. Jack grinned, and waved, swaggering down to the deck.

"_Jack_! You're alive!" William's eyes were so wide it was a wonder that there was still room for the rest of his face. "How did you escape?"

"M'_Captain_ Jack Sparrow, mate," Jack slapped a ringed hand on his shoulder, drunkenly holding on to his hat. "Don't know why everybody keeps forgettin' that. 'Tis right depressin', it gets."

Beads and dreadlocks moved to a halt when he stood before Elizabeth. She was dressed in her boy's garb, lips trembling, eyes downcast. Thinner than when he'd last seen her, and he doubted it was to do with the supply of food on the ship – Barbossa always liked a large larder. Worry, grief, regret – too much pain. "'Lizabeth."

"Jack."

He reached out a hand, palm open between them, careful not to react when she flinched slightly. "M'need t'thank ye fer what ye did."

Her head jerked up, staring at him in shock. "Thank me? But… but I…"

"Ye were right. I wanted t'do th'right thing. But I needed some convincin'." His free hand stroked the rail of the _Black Pearl_ affectionately. "An' if I'd run wi' ye, me _Pearl_ would'a been right pissed, like t'never speak t'me again. So thank ye, 'Lizabeth. T'aint all right what ye did, but yer young, an' I'd like ye t'know that old Jack don't hold it against ye."

Lips trembled again, then she abruptly hugged him tightly, burying her head in his shoulder. "Jack, I'm so sorry… sorry…"

"There, there," Jack said awkwardly, cautiously patting a shoulder, looking over at Will – no jealousy there, at least, seemed the girl had put him straight on what had really happened, only relief that they had squared the issue. But there was one other person about who might take offence…

"_Norrington_?" Jack winced. Young Will could pitch his voice high when he wanted to.

Elizabeth jerked away from him, then she gasped. "_James_?"

Jack rubbed his ear, wincing, staggering away from the couple. Norrington strolled out to meet them, wearing his characteristic smirk with his civilian clothes, hands loosely behind his back. "I'm glad to see the both of you too. Mr. Turner. Miss Swann."

"What… why… how…" William and Elizabeth stammered. Elizabeth was the first to recover, looking sharply at Jack. "Jack, _what did you do_?"

"Why is it everybody thinks it's me fault?" Jack swayed against the rail of his ship dramatically, petulant. Elizabeth was unimpressed – her eyes narrowed.

"Actually, I gave your father my word, for his peace of mind, to bring you and Mr. Turner back to Port Royal safely," Norrington said carefully. "And the _Black Pearl_ is far faster than any ship I could arrange for or charter. That, and its Captain seems to feel that he owes it to the both of you to see things to the end."

"Where's Barbossa?" Jack asked quickly, before the oncoming barrage of questions he could feel welling up from the couple emerged.

"He went off into Canton," Will supplied, with a little frown. "Same place he goes everyday. Drinks tea, talks to locals." A glance down at Jack's hip, then an irrepressible, boyish grin. "Like the sword?"

"Lovely present," Jack patted the hilt. "Thank ye."

"'Course, I made that before you tricked me aboard the _Flying Dutchman_," Will said mildly, managing to hold the look of utter seriousness for only a moment before breaking out into a grin again. "But I'm square with that, too. It's been a hard voyage, all the way here, makes a man think. I'm glad you're alive, Jack."

"Ye have no idea how glad I am that I'm alive, too," Jack drawled, looking out over the bustling port. The European-only section, it seemed – but there were several officious-looking people with slanted eyes and pigtails peering at them.

"Where's Gibbs? An' Marty? Cotton?" Anamaria got bored of watching them talk, after making sure that the _Pearl_ was properly settled.

"_Jack_! Anamaria!" a bellow from the dock and footsteps up the gangplank signaled that the people in question had just arrived on the scene. Gibbs stepped forward, arms wide, as if to envelop Jack in a bear hug, then froze. "Commodore!"

"I suggest," Norrington said wryly, "Before we have a repeat of the last few minutes, that we all adjourn somewhere with enough space and exchange stories."

--

Stories were exchanged (most stories, anyway), as was rum and their remaining dry food supplies, when they somehow all managed to fit into Jack's cabin. Jack was perched on the back of his chair, Norrington leaned on a space next to a porthole, Anamaria stood with Gibbs, Marty and Cotton opposite him, Will and Elizabeth somehow managed to both occupy the last chair, holding hands.

"So what we be doin' now, Jack?" Gibbs was the first to ask.

Jack tilted his head, then glanced at Will, then opened his arms wide. "Don't know. M'the cavalry, mate. This savin' o' William's da wi' destroyin' th'soul, 'tis his little adventure. So ye 'ave t'go try first, an' then I'd come out with th'clever rescuin' plans, savvy?"

"You're saying our role is to make a misguided attempt at penetrating World's End, get caught, and then wait for rescue?" Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. Her well-bred voice dripped sarcasm.

"Precisely," Jack swayed precariously on his seat as he clapped. "Indubitably. So why not ye get along wi' it, I do th'rescuin', we destroy this soul thing, an' then we all go home t'the Caribbees?"

William and Elizabeth sighed at the same time. "_Jack_…"

"'Course, that's me plan," Jack said, settling back a little. "Be glad t'know if ye 'ave any o' yer own."

William had the grace to look embarrassed – he even blushed a little. "Actually, I don't. Sorry."

Jack rolled his eyes, but Elizabeth came quickly to her fiancé's rescue. "We don't know the territory, Jack, or even where the soul is. We only know what it looks like. Tia didn't give us a lot of instructions. And…" She looked away briefly for a moment, not wanting to mention someone she knew Jack at best disliked, "Well, we were all really shocked about Barbossa. Being alive. To the point that we forgot to ask a few more pertinent questions. But he isn't very helpful – Tia only commissioned him to get us to World's End and back. He isn't required to actually lend any further aid, nor has he shown the slightest interest in the whole thing." This last was spoken in a tone of vexed irritation.

"M'know how that feels," Jack muttered, though some doubt filtered through his mind. "What did ye trade fer in India?"

"Silver bars, mostly," William said doubtfully. "It's tradable as currency here."

"That's very good," Jack said brightly. "An' they be tradable as currency over at th'World's End, too."

"Captain Sparrow," Norrington drawled, "I do recall we have cargo reserved just for this very expediency."

Jack winced. "Mate, we need t'trade that fer supplies here, as well."

"I took a look through your hold on the way here, Sparrow," Norrington looked at his fingers, his voice bland. "You seem to have somehow appropriated, or misappropriated, I should say, a small crate of silver, which should be enough for your purposes in Canton."

Jack pouted and wondered exactly when had he let Norrington out of his sight long enough for the man to do that. However, before he could inquire, Elizabeth asked, curiously, "What sort of cargo?"

"Nothin'," Jack said quickly, just as Norrington said, "Opium."

"_Opium_?" Elizabeth looked shocked. "Jack!"

"Well… it's goin' t'the pirates," Jack said, grudgingly, with a sidelong glare at Norrington. That annoying smirk. "We'd need it t'be let through t'the port. The last time Barbossa, Bootstrap an' I tried t'get there, we didn't 'ave any opium, so they didn't let us."

"James, I'm shocked that you condoned this," Elizabeth appealed to Norrington, as Jack had rather expected that she would. Will looked slightly bemused, as he did whenever he didn't exactly understand what was going on but was following Elizabeth's lead.

"As Sparrow pointed out, it's technically legal, and we do need… apparently… entry into the port to even be able to get close to whatever it is we're supposed to be looking for," Norrington said mildly. "But I believe we will need an interpreter. Perhaps some inquiries about town…?"

Jack sighed. "No need fer that. 'ow long 'ave ye been 'ere, Gibbs?"

"'Bout a week, mebbe a day or more," Gibbs said, scratching at his graying sideburns. "Why'd ye ask, Cap'n?"

"Awwrk. Apple a day," the parrot squawked, shifting its feet on Cotton's shoulder. Everybody ignored it.

"An' ye say Barbossa, he been goin' t'the same place each day an' drinkin' tea?" Jack tapped his lip. "Interestin'. Very interestin'."

"Why? What's he really up to?" Elizabeth was the first to grasp the subtext.

"See, 'Lizabeth, if Barbossa be really takin' a vacation while waitin' fer us t'be done wi' our business, then he be drinkin' rum, not tea. He drink tea when he wants t'be thinkin'."

"Sort of like how you drink rum in the same way?" Norrington asked dryly, "Though I have to say your methods are quite illogical, Sparrow. Tea, I can understand."

"Whatever works," Jack flapped his hand dismissively. "So. We need some rum. An' I'd go speak t'me previous traitorous First Mate an' see what 'e 'as t'say. In th'meantime…" an impish grin at the couple, "Try t'think real hard now on the possibilities of an aforementioned misguided attempt, awlright?"

"Whatever you say, Jack," Will grinned. Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"An', me _Pearl_ be tellin' me, very loudly, that she wants Gibbs, Marty an' Cotton back, so we'd be tradin' over some crew."

"What? Just them?" Elizabeth frowned. "Wait. You're implying that your ship speaks to you?"

"An' that's exactly why she ain't interested in the both of ye," Jack smirked. Will laughed as he saw Elizabeth's expression of mixed indignation and confusion. "Off we ye two now. Gibbs, Marty, an' Cotton – welcome back t'the _Pearl_. M'sure Anamaria can show ye 'round."

"Me pleasure, Cap'n," Anamaria tugged briefly at her wide-brimmed hat, and the latest additions to the crew followed her out of the cabin.

"I'd go with you to find Barbossa," Norrington said, glancing out of the porthole over Canton harbor.

"Don't need that, Commodore. Why not ye stay 'ere an' babysit?" Jack gestured extravagantly at Will and Elizabeth. "M'sure ye 'ave lots t'catch up on."

"It's all right, Jack, we can take care of ourselves," Elizabeth said doubtfully, "And it'd be better if you go out into Canton with somebody else. Just in case. Of trouble."

"What trouble?"

"Well… uh… you seem to attract trouble, Jack," Will agreed, earnestly. "While um, the Commodore, he tends to repel it, so…"

"T'aint _true_," Jack argued, with agitated hand gestures, "This Commodore, 'e be a right 'andful fer…" An outflung hand caused him to finally overbalance over the chair, with a surprised yelp. The sound of a step, then his breath huffed out as he fell against an arm, caught before he hit the deck. Norrington's worried expression, edged with irritation, filled his line of vision.

"I knew that would happen sooner or later, Jack," he growled. Jack smiled, playfully, affectionately, then his mind reminded him that the both of them were not exactly alone, at the same time that Norrington's did.

The twin expressions of openmouthed astonishment were, impossibly, even more shocked than when they had previously first realized he was alive. Jack smiled winningly and hastily pulled away from the Commodore, righting the chair with a flick of his heel and a twist of a hand. "Shouldn't th'two o' ye be off somewhere?"

"You called him _Jack_," Elizabeth gasped, staring at James.

"Jack, what did you _do_?" Will demanded, and stared at Jack.

Jack glanced back at Norrington, who was pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. No help there. "Well, y'see, I s'pose it'd be obvious eventually, but uh…"

"I guess it explains his _endless_ fascination with Jack," Will commented to Elizabeth, as if the both of them weren't there.

"Yes, I was wondering about that myself," Elizabeth said primly, "His questions about Jack's conduct on the island were beyond professional curiosity, I felt."

"_And_ the resignation."

"_And_ showing up in Tortuga."

"_And_ those… smoldering glances, over the deck of the _Pearl_," Elizabeth fanned herself with her hands with a playful grin.

"Have the both of you quite finished?" Norrington asked, wearily. "And do try to keep your speculations discreet."

"Going t'be hard, mate, what wi' th'livin' arrangements," Jack began, cheekily, but stopped when Norrington shot him a warning glance – living arrangements could be changed. Easily.

"We won't be disturbing the both of you, then," Elizabeth all but chirped, getting to her feet and dragging Will by the wrist after her. "Bye." Will grinned and waved as they disappeared out of the cabin.

"That was fast," Jack muttered. Only a day ago, while having his hair turned back to the way it was by Anamaria, he'd agreed with Norrington to keep secret their relationship, at least until the issue of the World's End was over, so it wouldn't cause any potential problems with the others.

"I'm actually a little relieved," Norrington said wryly, pressing up behind Jack and nuzzling him. "I'm not sure I could have spent the next few days pretending that we were at best allies under a temporary truce."

Jack sighed, even as he leaned back. "Still 'ave others. Gibbs, Marty, an'…"

Norrington cut him off via leaning forward a little and tilting Jack's head up with gentle fingers, kissing him languidly at first, then more and more roughly. Jack began to purr…

A shocked gasp from the door made them break apart. Jack swallowed the curse in his throat as he saw a very astonished Gibbs. "Gibbs! Uh…"

"Sorry. Left me hat," Gibbs muttered, beet red from embarrassment, scooting in and grabbing the item off the desk. "Er. Sorry. Cap'n. Commodore."

Jack and Norrington watched silently as Gibbs left as though he had been set on fire. There was a soft chuckle behind his ear. "You were saying, about the others?"

--

Barbossa guessed instantly. Sharp, deep blue eyes moved from Jack's face to Norrington's, then there was a chuckle as the older pirate settled more comfortably against the cracked wall, one leg up on the bench. He looked nearly exactly the same as from the last time Jack had seen him in the Isla de la Muerta – black wide-brimmed hat tilted rakishly at an angle sat on a worn, sunburnt face that was all hard angles, wreathed with graying hair and an absently trimmed beard. An ornate gold pendant of which origin Jack had never been able to guess was half hidden by the white collar of a shirt under a tattered brown vest. A black belt with an embossed silver buckle ran from shoulder to waist, over a heavy gray-blue coat. And that absolutely annoying monkey was seated on his shoulder, chattering away.

They were in a partially open-air, slightly run-down looking restaurant (really just a wooden roof shelter over tables and benches, two walls, and a kitchen) that was packed with pigtailed people all trying to out-talk each other in a language that Jack could not begin to understand. Songbirds of myriad colors in delicately domed wooden cages – from dusty brown to pale yellow – sang in a cacophony to match, hooked from the edges of the roof. Barbossa sat in a corner alone, nursing a tiny ceramic cup of tea, the pot next to his arm. "Jack. Yer late."

"Got caught up wi' some problems in Madras," Jack shrugged, sitting down opposite the other man, Norrington beside him.

A waitress approached, bobbing her head at them, then smiling and bobbing again when Barbossa spoke briefly in the local dialect. When she left, he smirked back at them. "Ordered us some more tea, 'bit o' food. Madras, hmm? Anythin' t'do wi' Lord Norrington?"

Norrington frowned immediately, but Barbossa merely took a sip of his tea. "I brought the _Pearl_ up this ways more than once, looking fer those damned Aztec coins. Impressive reputation – didn't quite meet him, though, more's the pity."

"Only a brief run in," Jack said impatiently, somewhat irrationally annoyed at the mention of the long years where he had been without his ship. He looked out over the street, where rangy, tanned locals were drawing British folk around in rickshaws with fluid efficiency.

"Nothin' t'do wi' how yer so obviously fuckin' his son?" Barbossa asked innocently, toasting Jack with tilt of his teacup, ignoring the intake of breath from Norrington. "Have t'congratulate ye, Jack. Didn'a know ye could poach one o' His Majesty's finest."

"Captain Barbossa. We didn't follow you all the way to Canton to discuss trivial questions," Norrington said coldly. "What are your plans for the retrieval of Davy Jones' soul at the World's End?"

Barbossa smirked back at him, unfazed by the icy tone. "T'aint that just like a Navy toff, Jack? Making demands that sound absolutely odd t'the average man in th'voice o' cool command. S'pose the two o' ye play at that when yer both on yer ownsies?"

Norrington's expression darkened. The food and drink arrived, however, with bitter brown tea flecked with black leaves poured into little cups for the two new arrivals, and little plates set out before them. A plate of steamed, smallish dumplings, some white, some an odd shade of yellow. And chopsticks. Barbossa picked up his pair as neatly as a native, and snapped up a dumpling. And smirked.

Jack returned it, as he did the same.

"Ye remember," Barbossa arched an eyebrow, in between mouthfuls.

Jack shrugged. "T'aint that hard."

Norrington, however, was having problems – he picked up his pair, glancing at both Jack's and Barbossa's fingers. The imitation was comical, especially since the Commodore was concentrating so much that he'd forgotten about the slight just a moment ago. Finally, Jack reached over and adjusted fingers and wood. Awkward, but no mishaps, then, "This is quite good."

"'Course. If not why would I be sittin' 'ere fer a week while waitin' fer me ex-Cap'n?" Barbossa helped himself to another. "'Sides, the owner remembers us from th'last time. Asked where Bootstrap an' ye were."

"Bootstrap," Jack refilled his tea, his voice flat. "Tia was fair mad what ye did t'him."

"Aye, that was exceedingly obvious, when I woke up," Barbossa shifted his shoulders a little, the monkey resettling with a reproachful chitter. "'Course, I was just so glad t'be alive again that I just agreed t'whatever she wanted. But Tia's careful now, so I 'ave another curse." Another shrug that irritated the monkey. "I don't extend me help, an' I go back t'bein' un-dead. I do believe she said somethin' 'bout droppin' me off in the middle o' the sea naked an' tied to a large ironbound treasure chest. Our Tia's very much into poetic justice." Amusement, and the faint, fleeting hint of old affection. Tia was one of the very, very few people in the world whose opinion Barbossa valued – though apparently not enough so as to attempt to kill Bootstrap.

"Didn't tell th'whelps this?"

"They'd never 'ave left me alone otherwise," Barbossa snorted irritably. "Through th'whole voyage 'ere it was, 'Captain Barbossa, why are we dockin' 'ere?' an' 'Captain Barbossa, should we really be tradin' in that?' an' 'Captain Barbossa, 'ow much longer t'World's End?' Fair drive a man mad."

That just absolved both Will and Elizabeth of any little debts Jack could care to acknowledge between the both of them. He grinned wickedly. "They're not so bad."

"Ye can 'ave them on the return trip," Barbossa retorted quickly. "An' be welcome t'them."

"Aye, well, that 'as t'be delayed until we're finished wi' th'business, hmm?" Jack smiled, even glancing briefly at Norrington. His Jamie was distracted already, now looking at the birds, then back at the street. Canton was a visual feast for a sheltered Commodore late of the Caribbean, even in the so-called European sector. Women in brightly colored silk dresses that hugged their hips, walking in tiny little steps. Drums, somewhere in the distance – a street performance. Oriental buildings lined the wide, paved street, their layered structure roofed in delicately sloped slate. Visible down the street were a set of pillars that held up a building in a squarish arc, either carved or painted with writhing dragon-serpents. "S'pose ye've been thinkin' o' a way t'go 'bout it."

Barbossa took out a folded piece of cloth from his coat, and opened it on the table. There was an inked picture of an egg, decorated with designs that were painful to look at – convoluted and twisting. "We'd be needin' t'find this." Businesslike now, having bored of playing. "I spoke t'some locals 'ere an' there, seems Worlds' End 'as slacked off some on th'No Europeans rule, an' they be acceptin' passage in return fer powdered gold. Which I hope ye brought, lookin' as I was badgered out o' doin' so."

"Aye, I have," Jack nodded. Norrington chuckled.

"An' sortin' through all th'stories, seems that most agree that the port itself is on the only flat bit o' land on a ring o' steep cliffs that go 'round the island. There be a long chain hidden in the sea just a ways from the mouth o' the harbor. They want t'stop enemy ships from comin' in, or goin' out, they pull up the chain an' stop the ship, dead in the water. Then they cannon it down from their side."

Barbossa reached into his coat and provided a further drawing. The mouth of the island 'ring' was thicker than the rest of the land, and the port was marked on an inward curve. There was, therefore, a channel of water that ships would have to pass through to get to the port. A dotted line and smaller marks showed the location of the chain, and presumably, the structures that held some sort of device to raise or lower it. Probably cranks, like in a drawbridge.

"Weren't you concerned that word of your inquiries would get out to… the pirates at World's End?" Norrington asked, studying the drawing.

Barbossa snorted. "M'also a pirate, Commodore. Drop enough hints, an' they just be seein' a cautious old sea dog out t'make some profit on opium where it can be sold wi'out 'avin' t'dance 'round the authorities."

"So getting in be th'easy part," Jack mused, tapping a nail over the drawing. "At least t'the port. Hear anythin' 'bout th'island?"

"Only that it's a short voyage from the port to the beach, an' it be a perfect round circle o' rock an' bamboo. What's at the center, nobody knows – too many different stories." Barbossa shrugged. "Some say it's a shrine to a god, the entrance t'Hell, the home o' a resident demon… so we'd be goin' in blind. Also, the pirates at World's End, they don't 'preciate anybody goin' t'the island. Nobody knows exactly why."

"Not like Tortuga or Liberté, then," Norrington commented, "There is governance."

"Aye, World's End be ruled by some chap wot calls himself the Dragon King," Barbossa drawled, "Nobody seems t'know what his real name is. Pirate king o' these parts. Long standin' disagreements wi' the British East India Company an' the authorities. Set up shop in World's End first t'store loot, an' now t'trade, since the world is changin' an' that be more profitable. Opium, slaves, silver, guns, ships, buyin' an' sellin'. Have enough o' either an' 'e may even grant us an audience."

"Ye've been busy," Jack acknowledged, grudgingly.

Barbossa snorted. "T'aint everybody wi' the free time t'go gallivantin' wi' members o' the East India Company and their sons, Jack. I'm lookin' forward t'going back t'the Caribbean, as soon as we can."

"How do you propose we get from the port into the central island?" Norrington asked, frowning. "I suppose they should have guards, and the sea chain will make it difficult to run."  
"I propose we get t'the World's End, an' bring tea, an' rum," Barbossa ate the last dumpling. "Take some looks around, do some tradin' an' minor thievery, then put our heads together." A smirk at Jack, who scowled. "Just like old times."

"'cept Bootstrap ain't here no more," Jack finished the tea, eyes narrowed over the rim.

"T'aint hard t'find someone t'fill his role. His son, or maybe the Commodore. Just need someone t'keep goin' 'Jack, that'd _never _work', an' 'Hector, tell Jack that'd _never _work', an' 'I can't _believe _that worked', along those lines, in that sequence."

"Jack, this will never work," Norrington said, with a perfectly wooden expression. Barbossa arched an eyebrow at him, and began to laugh.

"Hidden depths!"

"Jamie…"

"No, Jack," Norrington said patiently, "I understand that you and Captain Barbossa have had a varied and unpleasant recent history. However, seeing as he mutinied, and you ended up killing him, I would rather the both of you put the past behind you, at least until we get back to the Caribbean. We already have far too many problems at the moment without having to deal with the both of you going at each other's necks."

"Hear, hear," Barbossa smirked, pouring himself another cup of tea. "What say ye, Jack? The Commodore wants us t'be… friends." This last was drawled, sarcastic.

Norrington smiled. "And you'd be looking to stay in the Caribbean, Captain Barbossa? Afterwards?"

"I said so, didn't I?"

"My jurisdiction, Captain," Norrington said mildly, "And as it so happens, previous charges against you can likely be revived, before you have the means to escape. 'Mistakenly believed dead. Recent evidence to the contrary. Outstanding crimes against the Crown'." The purr of a hunting cat. "Short drop. Sudden stop."

"An' is it so smart t'be threatenin' me when ye be far away from yer jurisdiction, Commodore?" Barbossa smiled coldly, still drinking.

"I can take care of myself, Captain. But I'm sure you wouldn't like to risk your newfound… life on such a gamble. On the other hand, in return for your cooperation and agreement to stop instigating trouble amongst the rest of us, I may be agreeable to giving you a head start, once we return to the Caribbean." Norrington replied mildly. "Enough for you to outfit another ship, and start anew. Do we have an accord?"

The two pirates stared at Norrington, then they both began to chuckle. Barbossa shook his head, briefly startling the monkey. "Aye, an accord, Commodore. Where'd ye find this one, Jack?"

"Luck. She favors me," Jack smirked.


	18. World's End

Author's note: Finally at World's End. TT Also, shophouses were only around Southeast Asia, late 18th century, but I don't care. ;O I like shophouses. And World's End is fictional anyway. XD

Chapter 18

World's End

"Looks more orderly than Tortuga," William commented, as they docked at World's End. Behind them, along the deep channel they had taken, were two towers, looking out to sea, from which a very heavy-looking chain stretched down towards two corresponding buoys anchored into the water, and sank down out of sight. Long enough to allow both galleons to pass. The island was definitely, eerily, not of natural make, though Jack idly wondered whether the creation of World's End was part of the idea, or whether it just happened afterwards.

The port itself appeared to be a mismatched mix of Canton architecture further from the harbor – with the graceful, white walled buildings and sloping roofs painted a variety of colors. Along with the warehouses nearer the docks, there were long rows of narrow shophouses set into spoked streets, like a half-wheel, which led to a point. World's End was dominated by a large, walled-in building at the end of the narrow streets, built up and against the sheer cliff, resembling some sort of temple. A large sculpture of an Oriental serpent-dragon traced the edge of the highest sloped roof, the head nearly touching the top of an adjoining bell-tower.

Beyond the port, surrounded by a ring of blue, a round green dome edged with black rock and white sand was visible – the island, Jack presumed. The dock was only half full, and theirs were the only ships of non-Oriental make. Pirates, armed with pistols and swords, watched them from the docks and surrounding ships as the gangplank was lowered. Few people with pigtails here – but Barbossa had mentioned something about how the societal misfits weren't allowed to wear them. The pirates, however, seemed to flaunt their lack of it.

"Anamaria, m'fraid ye'd be on guard duty again," Jack told his First Mate quietly. "They may 'ave funny ideas 'round hereabouts as t'women, just like Canton. 'Lizabeth an' Will, ye'd best be watchin' our ships, too."

"Aye, Cap'n," Anamaria replied, and began shouting further orders at the crew.

"But…" Will began to protest, clearly not fully trusting Jack, given previous experiences.

"Will, ye'd also 'ave the job o' studyin', say, guard changes 'bout 'ere, an' mebbe those two towers out near th'entrance." Jack interrupted before the blacksmith could insist that he go along. "An' ye might not want t'let anybody get too close t'Lizabeth or Anamaria, them boy's clothes not bein' too much o' a disguise, close up."

"All right, Jack," Will said, doubtfully. "I don't think I can come up with anything about that sea chain, though."

"Who are you going with?" Elizabeth asked quickly. "And where?"

"Going t'do abit o' trade, an' some snoopin'," Jack explained, with extravagant and unnecessary hand gestures. "I'd take Barbossa. Th'Commodore will be lookin' after _Lady Luck_, since th'both o' ye be here already."

"Jack…" Norrington frowned. "I'd go with you. Leave Barbossa. I don't really trust him, even with his agreement."

"An' ye be able t'speak their lingo, like 'e can?" Jack wondered aloud. "Thought not. So, ye be stayin' here, seein' as we 'ave luck enough t'have four people wot can captain th'ships between all o' us. Anamaria on th'_Pearl_, ye go t'_Lady Luck_. Gibbs. Ye go wi' th'Commodore."

"Aye, Jack," Gibbs nodded. "What 'bout if there's any trouble?"

"Run off t'the ring o' sea if they raise th'chain, buy yerself some time," Jack smiled, moving to the gangway. "I'd tell ye t'keep t'the Code, but yer bad at listenin'." Gibbs smiled, but uneasily – his eyes kept flickering over to the large number of armed pirates watching them.

Norrington stepped forward quickly and gripped his shoulder, bruisingly tight. In a voice pitched low so as to only reach Jack's ears, he murmured, "You'd better come back. Safe."

"M' _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, mate," Jack didn't look back, but he patted the hand with a nut-brown one. "Don't ye worry."

With any luck, even if something went terribly wrong on the land, the whelps and Norrington could escape on the ships. Jack smiled a little wryly to himself as that thought filtered through, and felt his _Pearl_'s amusement at the change. _You're learning_, she noted. _Well, finally._

"Hush, missy."

--

"All settled?" Jack asked, watching as Barbossa finally stopped talking to the thin Oriental with the pointy moustache who was apparently in charge of trade in 'powdered gold'. Thankfully, the monkey had been left at the ship (though it had objected quite loudly), so there was one less annoyance.

"Think so," Barbossa said absently. They were in a small office in one of the shophouses near the harbor – plain, the only decoration a scroll of Oriental calligraphy on one wall – most of the rest of the space covered in cabinets and bookshelves of paper. "Not too sure. M'not that confident in me grasp o' Cantonese, an' 'tis worse fer Mandarin or th'other dialects. The time we spent on our last trip an' the couple o' weeks on this one – not quite enough time, 'fraid t'say. No linguistic similarities t'the European tongues. If we get out o' this alive, I think I'd take some time t'go t'Tortuga an' speak t'Lee 'bout it."

Jack shrugged. If Barbossa said that he wasn't confident in the language, it meant that he could already speak enough to be understood for basic purposes, and understand enough in turn to work out the rest in gestures and inflexion. "Good enough. What's happenin' now?"

"e's goin' t'want t'take a look at the goods, before we get the credit t'spend," Barbossa replied, concentrating to such an extent that he didn't make any sarcastic comments as to Jack's dependency on his translations. The thin man smiled and nodded at them, grasping the gist of their conversation as he wrote things down on forms in the graceful pictorial script of the Middle Kingdom. "After 'e's done wi' writin' somethin' down."

"Don't know what we can do wi' shore leave, since none o' us speak much, er, Cantonese," Jack said mildly. "An' m'not sure in yer middlin' ability t'mingle."

"Apparently there are some around who speak basic English, especially the tavern, an' ship supplier," Barbossa replied, ignoring the jibe, after a brief conversation with the trader. "He says that World's End is, of late, fairly popular fer 'foreign devil' pirates." A faint smirk. Barbossa evidently was deeply amused by the term. "And apparently, one o' the advisors t'the Dragon King is indeed a 'foreign devil'. Black skin, like ink."

"Really now," Jack said thoughtfully. "Very interestin'."

More conversation, then, "It was the Black Devil's idea t'step up patrols around the middle island… which we aren't supposed t'go near. An' he don't want t'say what it is that's in it."

The Oriental finished writing, and stood up, speaking as he did so. "An' we're off t'check the cargo." Barbossa glanced at Jack with a faint smirk. "Hope ye kept it in good condition, or we're going t'be thrown out."

Jack snorted. They strolled back to the harbor, the thin man talking all the while. Jack could actually see Barbossa's grasp of the difficult language slowly improving. If he didn't dislike the man, he'd have been impressed – but as it were, being left out of the conversation was merely annoying. As if sensing this, Barbossa turned back to him at one point, with that annoying smug grin. "Sorry 'bout that, Jack. 'e's right taken wi' a 'foreign devil' who can speak abit o' his lingo."

"Bet 'e don't know 'ow accurate that term is, wi' ye," Jack muttered.

The cargo was duly inspected, and the thin harbor official spoke a quick stream of words. Barbossa listened, asked a few questions, then turned back to Jack, from where they stood just before the _Black Pearl_. "We're good. Enough t'get us supplies, an' silver bars t'use 'round town. 'e'd also give us a map o' the places that we can get food or drink an' such." That smug grin. "Seein' as, 'e says, I'm a very curious individual, an' men who sail under me must also be very interestin', an' so deserve t'experience the best o' this fine freeman's port."

Jack bit down a growl.

--

When supplies were exchanged, the harbor official didn't seem surprised that none of the crew other than Jack and Barbossa seemed interested in exploring World's End. Instead, he handed Barbossa a beautifully decorated scroll, which unrolled into an arm's length painting of a coiled dragon, beneath which was written several lines in graceful vertical calligraphy. Barbossa spoke to the official, who nodded.

"Now what?" Jack asked, marveling at the intricacy of the brushwork and the rather elaborate, ostentatious way of conveying an invitation, which was what it had to be. "When do we 'ave t'go?"

"Right now," Barbossa said, unsurprised that Jack had immediately guessed what the scroll was. "An' yer invited. Along wi' anybody else who wants t'go."

"Well, lead on, then," Jack waved in the general direction of the large building in the distance, with a bright grin that gave lie to his apprehension. "We'd go see th'Dragon King. Do we 'ave t'dress fer th'occasion?"

"I meant it when I said 'right now', Jack," Barbossa said dryly, as an armed escort approached them from the street.

--

The interior of the Dragon Temple, as Barbossa translated the name (with a melodramatic wave of his hand, in a drawl) was terribly fancy, with high ceilings supported with pillars of curling stone dragons, all painted in the oddest red and gold hues. Jack wondered, privately, if it was some sort of character flaw with pirate 'kings', to want to surround themselves with all the trappings of finery in lieu of their not-particularly-legitimate positions – but then, as far as he could tell, only World's End was really 'governed' by a 'king' of this sort. The other pirate havens were free, and only nominally governed (read: who provided, for example, people to provide very, very basic sanitation, and heavyset men who made sure the brawls in the taverns didn't end up setting fire to the towns) by a loose alliance of traders and harbor officials. There was none of the organization of World's End – not that bureaucracy at the harbor that could rival a British East India Company port, nor the patrolling, armored guards on the streets, with brawls kept strictly to taverns.

It was a pirate port, but it didn't feel like one. Could be cultural differences, perhaps. Jack vaguely remembered Barbossa's rambling discourse, many years ago, when they were drunk in Canton (or perhaps on the _Pearl_, things got blurred) about the curiosities of the civilization in Cathay. How past emperors got their jollies from roasting people alive by strapping them on hollow metal pillars and stoking the iron with fire, how their female relatives and harems were manned (haha) by eunuchs. Eunuchs, in fact, could come into power as officials – Barbossa wasn't clear whether they had to, indeed, do the painful deed to obtain power. It had all been very disturbing, and Jack distinctly remembered wishing that Bootstrap wouldn't ask so many damned questions. When Barbossa had talked about how they would store their 'bits' in little jars, or summat, Jack had proceeded to drink himself under the table. After that, he'd tended to eye Orientals suspiciously.

As he was doing now, standing on a red carpet over individually painted ceramic tiles, an armed guard around them. They hadn't been allowed to keep their weapons – surrendered at the door. The carpet led up to a set of low steps to an exceedingly ornate throne of carved rosewood, the design of many writhing dragons entangled together. Plush robin's egg blue cushions on the seat, and several on either side of the throne. Ornately painted red paper lanterns hung above them, for illumination.

There was a beat of a hidden drum, and then several brightly robed men strode out from the side doors, cleverly hidden by tapestries, and took up positions on the wide stairs. When the beat rose to a crescendo, the Dragon King arrived from the curtained door behind the throne. He wore a crown of a curled serpent-dragon – a silver belly, each scale picked out in gold flecks over his high forehead, slanted-eyes so empty of emotion that for a moment, Jack thought he was blind. Black hair had been cropped short, beard trimmed, white at the right cheek where an ugly scar slashed down to his neck. Other than the elaborate crown, however, the man was dressed like a European buccaneer – at least on first glance. The coat with thick cuffs was heavily embroidered with brocade and designs of serpent-dragons. The belt across his chest had a jade buckle over fine leather, and the white shirt was clasped with Oriental embroidered thread. The breeches had sweeping designs of scales down the outer thigh, and the leather boots too were stitched in a design of concentric mandalas.

He settled on the throne with catlike grace, just as various giggling, pretty Oriental women danced out from the curtained door, all holding a fluttering, embroidered fan in their hands, as they settled on the cushions around the throne, peering at Jack and Barbossa coyly from behind them. And finally – a black man, dressed simply in a white shirt, dark breeches and black boots, who stood behind the throne, watching them with cold disinterest, arms folded.

"Welcome to World's End," the Dragon King spoke, with a lilting accent, suggesting at an East India Company-influenced English. "Yee Ming tells me that you speak our tongue well for an Englishman, Captain…?"

"Hector Barbossa," Barbossa offered, with a quick smile. "An' ye speak English better than some Englishmen that I've 'ad the chance t'meet."

"I have had the great honor of being… educated, by Englishmen," the Dragon King said, in a voice without inflexion. "When I was a boy. It has shaped me into the person I am today."

"T'be sure," Barbossa shrugged. "'Tis a bad habit o' the English, I think. Unwanted education."

"Unwelcome, perhaps, but not unwanted, on hindsight," the Dragon King said enigmatically. "And they also have the bad habits, of making strange rules. Just like the local officials, and their restrictions on the trade of powdered gold."

"O' course, 'tis why we're here," Barbossa replied blandly. "Though we thank ye fer the audience. Great honor."

"For us both, I can assure you. But who is your… associate, Captain Barbossa?" The dead eyes peered at Jack, as if bored with the small talk.

Jack smiled engagingly, and tipped his hat. "M'_Captain_ Jack Sparrow, of the _Black Pearl_."

"Yes. I have heard of you," the pirate king said thoughtfully, "From our patron, Davy Jones. No doubt you have heard of him."

Barbossa's sidelong glance at Jack spoke volumes for what his ex-First Mate thought of his current level of intelligence. Jack's smile didn't falter, fluttering his hands. "Aye, I know of him. Charmin' chap. Tentacles. Big pet, not very housetrained."

"He spoke of you with much hatred," the Dragon King said dryly, "When he was here last, to check on his soul. Apparently, he has somehow, through your intervention, misplaced his heart."

Jack blinked at this information. Apparently Davy Jones was magically capable of traversing extremely long distances in a very short time indeed. He privately thanked Lady Luck that he'd thought of getting the heart to Tia, before Beckett found out about that fact. "Well, I won't say t'was totally me fault."

"And now I find you here, and with a man who should be dead," the Dragon King continued blandly, as if he hadn't heard. "What, must I ask you, should I think of your intentions?"

"Uh… mebbe we want t'be friends?" Jack tried his best smile.

--

The prison was, as prisons went, very dank, smelly and cold. Barbossa was rubbing at his temple, eyes closed, slumped in a corner between the wall and the bars separating them from the next cell. Jack was perched on the plank bed, looking up at the tiny square near the top of the wall from which daylight streamed in. The prison was empty except for them and a catatonic, skeletal man in the next cell. The guardroom was adjoining the jail proper at the end of the corridor between the cells, a heavy ironbound wooden door, and it led to the only exit.

"That didn't go too well," Jack ventured, peering around at the door to the guardroom.

"Amazing understatement," Barbossa drawled. "Why couldn't ye 'ave kept yer gob shut an' let me do the talkin'? Pretended ye were mute, perhaps?"

"I bet 'e knew who we were before we even docked properly at World's End, mate," Jack said, sounding injured. "We'd 'ave been caught anyway."

"An' d'ye, knowin' that, 'ave any idea o' 'ow we're goin' t'get out o' this?" Barbossa asked flatly, rolling his eyes.

"Not yet, but I'd come up wi' somethin'." Jack smirked. "Hey, this ain't th'worst scrape we've been in by a long shot. Remember th'time wi' th'Earl's daughter over at Havana an' Bootstrap trippin' over a dog when we were 'bout set t'leave?"

"Far too clearly, thank ye," Barbossa replied, but there was a faint quirk to his lips. Which quickly died away as both men realized that they were supposed to still be at each other's throats, albeit under an Uneasy Truce, of course. Silence for a while, and then Barbossa sighed. "'ow's that gel doin' fer ye as a First Mate?"

"Anamaria? She's okay. Sooner or later, she'd want t'be Cap'n o' her own ship, though." _Same as you_. "But she be a staunch one. Good First Mate – efficient. Tends t'bully 'er Cap'n a little too much, though."

Barbossa chuckled. "Ye always appoint First Mates who are too difficult fer ye t'handle, Jack."

"Aye. But who else at that time? Bootstrap ain't First Mate material. An' as t'this crew, neither is Gibbs. As ye probably 'ave seen," Jack leant against the grimy wall.

"No, he isn't. Good officer, though," Barbossa commented, "Sense o' responsibility. Kept me an' th'whelps from killin' each other, prob'ly."

"Well, he be Navy stock," Jack replied absently, "Drinkin' problem, though."

"Could o' guessed that meself," Barbossa agreed. "Both points." A faint smirk. "What 'bout the other Navy? The one yer sleepin' wi'?"

"Definitely not First Mate material," Jack said dryly, "Even if 'e's of th'inclination t'turn pirate after this. Been a cap'n himself fer too long."

Another deep silence, this time broken by Jack. "What d'ye think they're goin' t'do t'us?"

"Don't know. All 'e said was 'Take them away', in case yer interested," Barbossa glanced at the catatonic, only barely breathing person in the next cell. "Starve us, shoot us, don't know. But I've heard the people of Cathay tend t'be right vicious 'bout torture."

Jack shuddered, and thought of eunuchs. No. Bad thoughts. "Need rum."

Barbossa smirked. "T'aint any I see 'round 'ere."

"No tea, either."

"Can see that meself." Barbossa looked at the massive lock at their door. "Don't think that can be picked, either, even if ye'd 'ad the presence o' mind t'anticipate this an' bring some sort o' pick."

"Looked when we came in. Fiddly design," Jack agreed, and grinned. "Ha. All we need now is Bootstrap an' his 'How th'hell are we goin' t'get out o' _this_ one?' an' we'd be square."

"Aye." Barbossa didn't smile. Jack wondered if it was regret that the other man felt, now that the Aztec curse no longer had a hold of his soul. "I didn't know, Jack. At that time. That we were cursed."

"Figured that," Jack nodded, "Since ye needed 'is blood."

"No, no. Not that. Droppin' 'im into the sea like that, unable t'die. If I'd known we were cursed, I wouldn'a have done it. I still would'a killed him, but I would'a found a way t'kill him clean." Barbossa said softly. Obviously not expecting Jack to believe him. "The three o' us." A quirk to his lips. "Sometimes I wish t'was ten years ago again." A laugh, now. "T'aint nothin' like possible death t'make a man maudlin, eh, Jack?"

"Aye," Jack said, with a sigh, remembering youth spent in an amazing variety of misadventures and scrapes. "Wish m'could turn back ten years." A smirk. "Leastways I'd be better prepared fer this eventuality."

Barbossa laughed. "If t'was me, I'd 'ave made a note never t'go near Canton. Ye 'ave t'look at the bigger picture, old chap."

"Have the both of you _quite_ finished?"

Jack leaped to his feet; just as Barbossa jerked bodily away from the corner of wall and bars that he had been leaning against with a loud curse in French. The skeletal man's head had lolled over to look at them, though the eyes were utterly black, like pits. The parched throat had spoken in a smooth voice that should not have been possible.

"Thought ye were dead, mate. Nice recovery," Jack deadpanned, fluttering his hands. "Fair miraculous."

A snort. "Captain Jack Sparrow and Captain Hector Barbossa, the black sheep of the Caribbean. Rotting in the cell of an Oriental pirate King who has a taste for torture, and you can both still bandy all sorts of inane jokes. I'm beginning to wonder if the both of you are really the ones for the job, after all."

"What job be that?" Jack asked, just as Barbossa demanded, "Who's talkin'?"

"Destroying the soul, sinking this godforsaken pirate island," the man 'said'. While the jaw moved, puppet like, it felt more like ventriloquism than an actual voice. "And as to your question, Captain Barbossa, you may both call me Saturday."

"Baron Saturday. _Samedi_," Barbossa scrambled up to his feet, next to Jack. "The man behind the Dragon King. I thought ye looked familiar, but mate, the last time I saw ye, ye 'ad a white face. Like chalk."

"I'm talking through a man with one foot in my realm, and you're concerned with my ability to change the skin color of one of my avatars?" Saturday asked rhetorically.

"Who, is Baron Saturday?" Jack tapped at Barbossa's shoulder impatiently, "Introduction, if ye please."

"The man ye see when ye die, Jack. Before ye pass t'the realm o' th'dead. I seen him once. After ye shot me." Barbossa said flatly. "Didn't ye ever talk t'Tia 'bout what she does?"

"Uh… no." Jack thought a little. "No wait, I asked her 'bout th'dolls an' pins."

"'e be the Loa o' the dead. An' sex, rum an' profanity, among others. From the voodoo religion." Barbossa said curtly.

"My kinda' guy," Jack swayed at his feet, fluttering his hands.

Barbossa ignored him, turning back to Saturday. "Did Tia send ye?"

"You don't 'send' the Loa to do anything, Captain Barbossa," Saturday said dryly. "But you can 'ask' them. Nicely."

"An' Tia, she be askin' ye t'help us?" Jack asked, hopefully.

"In a sense," Saturday nodded the desiccated head. "A long time ago, partly through her fault, the one you know as Tia Dalma caused a white man to live forever out of my grasp. In her anger she swore on her blood and the blood of her mothers that she would bring him back to my realm, and so I have bound her in service for an age. Power, but in servitude, until she fulfils her vow." A shrug of semi-rotting shoulders. "Actually it sounds worse than it is. We're rather fond of each other now, and she even gets along with the wife. However, it was foreseen that in this turn of years she would get her hands on half of the means to fulfill her vow, so I decided to help her a little."

"Th'heart," Jack said. His mind reeled a little. They were possibly about to be tortured to death, and he and Barbossa were talking with a sarcastic nearly dead man who was possibly also a God of Death, of some sort. Spirit. Something.

"Precisely. She has, through your intervention, acquired the heart. Now she needs the soul disposed of. After expending the necessary power required to ask me to bring you, Captain Barbossa, back to life, she then sent the most capable people she knew with you or following you to World's End, not being able to leave the Caribbean herself. Conflicting streams of magic. Hard to explain. And as for myself, I decided to work one of my avatars close to the soul, just in case I could be of aid. Making sure the wrong people are kept away, as such, until the right ones come along." The skeletal head somehow managed to still give them both a disparaging look. "Though I admit I'm a little disappointed in Tia's knowledge of capable people."

"Looks can be deceivin', mate," Jack smiled winningly.

"I hope so," Saturday drawled. "Because you're going to need some of your famed luck."

"Why didn't ye go after th'soul yerself?" Jack asked, curiously. "Seein' as ye be right capable o' many strange an' amazin' things."

"Because of the rules, Jack Sparrow, of a game played that is beyond your mortal ability to comprehend," Saturday said smugly. "But in essence, to get things done us Loa are only supposed to aid our followers, and not actually do things ourselves."

"Sounds borin', mate."

"D'ye 'ave a way t'get us out o' here?" Barbossa asked quickly, obviously wary of Jack's ability to be absolutely annoying if he wanted to be.

The skeletal man gestured, and their lock clicked open. "I've also taken care of the guardroom door. There's only a minimal guard at this moment, because, rather in an odd parody of the mainland, they're celebrating the Lantern Festival tonight. Thanks to yours truly, by the way – I said it would be far more auspicious to celebrate it today, instead of at its official date. The Dragon King is engaged in some old fashioned debauchery, and I've made sure the harbor guards have been sent an anonymous bit of rum. Get past the guard, sneak to the harbor, and get to the island. Your belongings are kept in the next room after the guardroom. Can you do that, or not?"

"Sure thing, mate," Jack bowed, swaying. "An' thanks fer th'help."

"See you later," the skull-like head said, and then lolled still.

"Y'know, comin' from him, that ain't very encouraging," Barbossa muttered.

--

The guards were easily taken by surprise and knocked out, though Barbossa was shaking his wrist, cursing softly, not having locked his fist tightly enough. They were then locked in the cell they had been in. Keys opened the next door, to show a storeroom, and their weapons in a messy pile at the ground. And then they were out on the street. Too easy.

The jail was close to the Dragon Temple, just a short ways from the main street, where many people walked around in a slow procession, chattering and looking through hastily set up stalls, all holding bright paper lanterns. Jack and Barbossa snuck quietly in the shadows, avoiding the crowds, until they reached the harbor, where they found that the guards had, as promised, dozed off.

Jack glanced at Barbossa, who nodded, and jerked his head in the direction of the _Lady Luck_, then pointed in the distance where the dark outline of the dragon island could still be seen, even in the night and the pale illumination of the moon. He nodded in turn, and the two men left for each of their ships.

Anamaria was gratifyingly relieved that he was back, and she roused the crew with a vengeance. Jack found himself giving a brief outline of what had happened to a sleepy Will and a worried Elizabeth, as he took the helm to steer the _Black Pearl_ out of the harbor. A glance to the side showed that the _Lady Luck_ was doing the same, and he waved briefly at Norrington, who was peering worriedly over the side at the black ship. He could see the man visibly relax, then leave quickly to help with preparations.

They moved a ways around the island, with Jack making sure the slower ship could keep pace, before weighing anchor – _Lady Luck_ cruising neatly up next to the _Pearl_. "Keep an eye out," Jack told Anamaria. "M'goin' over t'the island. Gimme a lantern."

"I'm going with you," William said instantly.

"Me too," Elizabeth chipped in.

Jack opened his mouth to argue, and then decided that, as things were, there was likely too little time up until the alarm was raised in World's End. "Fine. Get armed. An' William rows."

"Goin' t'be trouble from over there?" Anamaria asked, pointing over her shoulder at the barely visible glow that was the pirate town.

"Mebbe. If ye see pursuit, start runnin'. At most, p'haps it'd buy us some time." Jack said, going over to where the jolly boat was being prepared. William and Elizabeth went down first, but Jack lingered, stroking the rail of the _Pearl_ affectionately. "Be right back, missy," he whispered.

_See that it is so_, she replied, playfully.

Norrington and Barbossa, both also holding lanterns and fully armed, met him on the beach. Barbossa shook his head, jerking a thumb at his Jamie. "Couldn'a shake him, even though I told him 'tis better if he stayed on the ship, bein' able t'cap'n it if need be. Must ye make such annoyin' pests o' friends, Jack?"

Norrington smirked, but moved quickly to Jack, looking him over to see that he was unharmed, then let out a sigh of relief. "Next time, I'm going with you."

"Don't want there t'be a next time, mate," Jack said, as he set off quickly towards the island interior.


	19. World's Truth

Author's note: Heh… even though it's been one of the driving points of the story, the World's End part seems short. Oh well. As mentioned previously somewhere, I have this tendency to suddenly get… bored, of stories, and want to write the ending (startings and endings are the most fun to write, in my opinion). And, in any case, at 20 chapters with the word count Fathoms is already the second longest fanfic I have ever written. As to the puzzle squares and golems – yes, I've played Oblivion and Jade Empire.

Chapter 19

World's Truth

As they pushed through bamboo and crumbling soil, Jack, occasionally corrected by Barbossa, gave a recount of what had occurred since they'd gotten the 'invitation' to the Dragon Temple. When he got to the part about the nearly dead man speaking, Norrington sighed. "Why does nothing seem normal anymore around you?"

"T'aint me fault," Jack grumbled. He stumbled slightly, and found himself steadied almost automatically by his Jamie. Barbossa rolled his eyes at the silent by-play, but was ignored by all and sundry. The bamboo forest seemed eerily uninhabited by animals, with only the sounds of insects hidden in the leaf litter in counterpoint to the wash of waves up the rock and sand beach. Their lanterns forced mottled shadows onto the crumbling ground. The scent of rotting leaves was paramount, thick and cloying.

"So the soul is in the center of this island? You know this to be true?" Elizabeth asked. A sword was belted at her hips, as well as a pistol. A right pirate Miss Swann was turning out to be.

"I've been told, but I 'aven't seen it, 'ave I?" Jack said, holding on to his tricorn hat. The good thing about bamboo forests – no annoying little branches to pluck at his clothing. "It's prob'ly at the center. Don't know if there'd be guards, or little traps or whatnot."

"Traps," Norrington repeated, with a frown. "Yes, quite likely. Some trap of a kind, or a guard. The patrols around the island seemed only token. As if they weren't really afraid of somebody landing here and making it past. Though, as you say, that could simply be the mere intervention of this Saturday character."

"Since we've been makin' enough noise t'wake the dead, m'sure we'd find out sooner or later," Barbossa said caustically. "So I hope ye all remembered t'load yer guns. Especially the gel an' the blacksmith."

Elizabeth shot him a dirty look, opening her mouth to retort haughtily, but then shut it as she recalled the comment about noise. "Bloody pirate," she could be heard to mutter.

The bamboo forest cleared quickly into a large circular clearing, where there was an oddly polished white square of stone made of smaller squares, each about a meter across, eight squares by eight, all with a different Oriental character written on them. At the center, where four squares should have been, was a large metal square of bronze, embossed with the design of a writhing serpent-dragon. There was a wooden plaque set neatly next to the puzzle, which Barbossa read out aloud, after pushing his lantern closer to illuminate the calligraphy. "The World's Truth, at the World's End."

"I hate puzzles," Jack said with a sigh, sauntering over to the squares – but was immediately pulled back by both Will and Norrington.

"Definitely the trap," Norrington said mildly. He pointed – on one of the squares, there was a suspicious dark stain. Old blood, perhaps.

Barbossa had, however, already walked up to the edge of the stone squares, where he looked thoughtfully at the Oriental characters. He then walked around the large square puzzle, slowly, before turning back to them. "Ideas?"

"It's… it's a riddle! What's on the stone," William suggested brightly. "And the answer will probably be the path through to the center."

"Very good… but I already knew that," Barbossa snapped. "Next."

"Maybe if you translate every word out there?" Elizabeth suggested. "Then we could guess at the answer."

Barbossa rolled his eyes, and took a deep breath. Jack was the one to cut in before there could be violence. "'Lizabeth, another language be hard t'translate, an' even so, lots o' words can mean lots o' other things, savvy?"

"Right." She looked slightly embarrassed. "Sorry."

"Why would Davy Jones make an Oriental puzzle?" Norrington muttered, looking at the plaque. "Why not in English?"

"You mean Dutch. He's Dutch," William said, with a little frown. "I think. His accent. It seemed Dutch. And his ship, of course…"

"Irrelevant," Barbossa said dismissively, pulling absently at his gray beard as he looked at the square.

"Maybe we could rig up some o' th'bamboo an' get across," Jack suggested, "Instead o' tryin' t'solve th'puzzle."

"Capital, except that we have nothin' t'cut bamboo down wi', except our swords, an' by the time we do that, we'd probably 'ave been arrested again," Barbossa replied irritably.

"Where do people find truth?" Norrington said, absently, to himself. "Asking others. In books. The Book. The Bible." He frowned. "In religion, of course! And all religions speak of the ending of the world, in some way or other."

"An' we'd be better placed sawin' off bamboo than debatin' what th'world's truth be, from religion," Jack said dryly.

"No, Jack. The Commodore is definitely onto somethin'," Barbossa said slowly, walking around the squares again. "Of course. The world's truth. Buddhism – a common enough religion on the mainland of the Middle Kingdom. And the very title the pirate king goes under, that's also from Buddhist mythos."

"So ye've solved th'puzzle?" Jack asked.

Barbossa grinned, and stepped forward onto a square.

It sank down slightly under his feet, and there was a grinding sound beneath them, but then everything was still. No horrible traps, either. "Follow me lead," he said confidently, and stepped onto another stone square, diagonal right, then forward. When he reached the end of the winding route across to the central square, the metal slid open, to reveal an iron rectangular chute, rungs set into one of the walls. "Ah."

"So… what _is_ the World's Truth?" Norrington asked curiously, as Barbossa climbed down onto the first rung, careful not to touch any of the other squares, lantern hooked to his pistol-belt.

"Buddhism precept. Lots o' display calligraphy on it in Canton, just didn't strike me until ye reminded me 'bout religion. 'Everythin' is nothin', nothin' is everythin'." Barbossa's voice echoed up from the tunnel as he descended.

"That doesn't make sense," Will protested, even as Barbossa disappeared into the darkness, the lantern light bobbing downwards. "How can everything be nothing? And I can't believe you just solved it like that."

"Ye know, yer so much like yer da' it scares me," Jack said dryly, as William followed Barbossa, Norrington helping Elizabeth down after him, then moving into the tube himself. Jack sashayed over to the metal square… and slipped.

He wasn't sure how that had happened – the stone was, admittedly, somewhat slippery due to the relative closeness to the sea and the presence of so much vegetation, dewing nicely, it was – but he did, landing hard on his side with an oath.

There was a grinding sound, and with some consternation Jack realized his elbow had caught on a square that had not been on the path Barbossa had taken. There was the sudden, insistent ringing of a small bell, hidden somewhere within the rock under him.

A yelp from below, as the rungs abruptly retreated into the wall. Jack saw the metal square slowly moving to close the opening, and without thinking, he dived down into the hole.

--

Thankfully, the fall wasn't too long, and he landed on something soft, that cursed him breathlessly. Norrington. A glance to the side showed that Elizabeth, Will and Barbossa were fine, even if his ex-First Mate was rolling his eyes. "_Jack_."

"Jack… I… I…" Will took a deep sigh. "I can't even find the words. We're trapped."

"Accident," Jack said placatingly, as he helped Norrington up. "Sorry." A pause. "Should we be worried 'bout that sound?"

Lanterns were set into the walls around them. They were in a relatively large domed room, ringed with oddly patterned stone – the ground was a flat, if rough gray slate. Stone or ceramic statues of armed men, dressed in realistically carved armor stood in a ring around them, all at attention, their palms parallel to their sides. There was one exit, which led to another dimly lit circular room. Barbossa took a step towards it.

The bell stopped. There was the sound of stone grinding against stone, and Jack ducked by pure instinct as a sword sliced through the air where his head had been. Creaking and trembling, the statues were coming to life, their carved features and bodies becoming more fluid. The swords they unsheathed from their ceramic scabbards were metal, and looked very sharp.

"Jack, if we get out of this, I am _so_ going to _slap you_!" Elizabeth snarled as she drew her own weapon to parry a downward slice. Jack was unable to answer, dodging slices and parrying with the fine Turner sword, lithely, grimacing as he realized that the statues had unnatural strength. He shot at one of them when it got too close, and then winced as the bullet ricocheted off it and into the ceiling. Bulletproof. Not good.

"We 'ave t'make it t'the next room," Barbossa kicked at one of the ceramic soldiers, cursed when it only rocked a little, and deflected a stab of its sword expertly, riposting under its guard, then cursing again when the tip of his sword only sheared off the ceramic surface. William drew off one of the soldiers with stabs and slices that failed to even mark the material, but in doing so, opened a way to the room. Elizabeth ducked in, Jack after her, then Barbossa. Lucky, they were lucky – William, Barbossa and Norrington were amongst the best swordsmen Jack had ever known – and they held their own, despite the indefatigable, apparently invulnerable opponents. If they hadn't possessed this level of skill, it was entirely likely that they would have been sliced to pieces before even reaching the tunnel.

And then he recalled, with a wry grin, how Baron Saturday had mentioned something about Tia sending the most capable people she knew. Of course. If there was potentially going to be sword fighting, who else could she send?

The purpose of the second room was fairly obvious. Through a gap in the oddly patterned wall, the massive carved head of a dragon rested its bearded chin on the stone ground, taking up most of the room. Its eyes were closed, and between its jaws it gently held a tiny chest. The sculpture was intricate, but the details were rough, as if unfinished. Behind the chest, however, Jack could see a large forked tongue, and the ribbing of the inside of the upper jaw. Very curious – not very detailed, yet very detailed, at the same time… unfortunately, he didn't have much time to admire it and poke around, what with all the ceramic monster things.

Pushed back into the entrance of the second room, Norrington and Jack stood shoulder to shoulder at the narrow tunnel that would only allow two soldiers to come at them apiece. Jack grinned over his shoulder at William even as he danced away from a downward slice, pushing hard at the ceramic shoulder, making the soldier overbalance and fall against one of its kin with a tinkling noise. "Now ye be doin' th'proper heroics, Will, an' figurin' out what t'do next, savvy?"

"Okay, Jack," William said worriedly, steps informing Jack that he was approaching the carved head.

Norrington parried a series of stabs aimed at Jack, then stumbled with an oath as the ground shook, and heaved, under their feet, with a rumble of stone. Jack grabbed his shoulder as they fell back into the second room. On his back, upside down, he could see, impossibly, the ringed walls of the room begin to move.

_Scales_. What he had taken to be odd wavelike designs in the light of the lanterns were large _scales_. Which meant…

He looked over at William, who was holding the little chest in his hands, staring in horror as the head lifted off the ground, and the eyes opened to show orbs of brilliant gold each the size of a man's head. Color chased into the scales, and texture into the body – stone became sharp ivory teeth, stag-like horns, fine green mane, iridescent blue scales.

"Oh, _bugger_."

The shifting coils, at least, caused the ceramic soldiers to stumble and fall against each other, as the ceiling cracked, and began to fall in. Coils shifted, and the dragon's head slipped out. Blocks of stone and machinery crashed down onto the ceramic soldiers – they themselves were only saved by pure fact that the coils near them had to be lifted up and above them to free the head, so causing the brickwork and metal to shift and cave only into the first room. Moonlight flooded the chamber, lanterns smashing on the cracking slate ground – likely, it was also balanced on coils of the creature, beneath them.

There was a deafening roar from above, as the dragon shook itself free of the soil and vegetation that had grown on it while it had been asleep.

"Beach," Barbossa gasped, though Jack knew, inside him, that it was a little late for that. The coils, no longer stacked neatly on top of each other, were curling down, and Jack pulled himself atop one, grasping at the fin that flared along the top. Looking back, he saw that the others had done the same, with Elizabeth being supported by Will. The scaled body heaved, and they were up in the air, the wind whistling past their ears – Jack could even see the lights on his _Pearl_.

Another roar, as the dragon realized it had passengers that seemed intent on running off with the item it was to protect. The head with its impressive set of teeth turned to regard them, the eyes holding a certain alien intelligence, then it swept with surprising speed towards Will.

The box!

"Throw it 'ere!" Jack shouted, waving a hand. William didn't hesitate. Jack caught the tiny chest deftly, and pulled himself up, running on the slippery, heaving surface, waving his hands at the dragon.

"Hey beastie! Over 'ere!"

The dragon turned, snarling. Jack noticed small, vestigial clawed arms that extended from some distance along the coils below its head – the dragon used these to stop its lunge, twisting instead to follow the pirate. Thankfully, due to its long hibernation, or perhaps because it really was stupid, the dragon didn't seem to think of just grinding two of its coils together and turning Jack into a discolored stain – it kept attempting to snap at him, a little sluggishly. Jack rolled, yelped as he went into free fall, and then his breath huffed out as he landed on another coil.

Grabbing the sail, he yelled, "Will!" and threw the chest back in an arc upwards. Jack knew, subconsciously, that getting to the beach was really no solution at all – they would simply be trapped, between water and the very angry beastie. There was a very unladylike oath, as Elizabeth's sword slipped on the scales, unable to mar it. A pistol shot, but the dragon only hissed, shaking its mane and half-turning to glare at Barbossa.

Norrington was the one to catch the box, however, making Jack's heart stop for a moment as the dragon turned its burning gaze on the current offender, hissing like a thousand furious snakes as Norrington scrambled down onto a lower coil, grasping at more resilient bamboo that hadn't fallen off, slipping a little on loose soil. When the dragon got too close, he tossed the box again, this time to Barbossa. Another shot from his ex-First Mate, wide of the eyes, glancing off the scaly cheek. The dragon roared.

All of them were climbing a little awkwardly on constantly moving coils, trying somewhat vainly to get to the water, out of some ill-conceived notion of being able to use the ships to escape, perhaps. Jack could see the outline of one of the jolly boats, still unbroken, floating a short swim out into sea – no sigh of the other except for a few broken planks amongst a lot of crushed and floating bamboo.

He pulled himself upright using one of the remaining shoots that were still rooted to the top coils of the dragon, and leaped for another, headed towards the sea, with the agile grace born of years handling rigging on a ship. The box was now with Elizabeth, then back to Norrington, as they spread out to better confuse the massive animal. The dragon thundered its frustration, rearing back and shaking out its mane. Jack laughed, a little manic, as he imagined the look on the faces of those who had remained on the ships, even as he hauled himself upright on another shifting coil via the pale red and gold fin, his free hand flailing a little.

The box was back to Will again, who threw it at Jack with a warning shout… if a little too far out of reach. Jack ran for it, even knowing, for a sickening moment, that he couldn't possibly make it – the box fell hard, down on one coil, and sprang open. A white egg engraved with designs painful to follow with the naked eye, the hue of finest bone china, rolled out, then tumbled over the edge of the coil at another heave.

The beach had disappeared, with the writhing of the dragon's impossibly long body – only deep water remained now at the edges. A look risked backwards showed the dragon looking indecisively at the lot of them, as well as peering around for the chest. With the coils shifted, it was now clear that the island had really been much smaller than it really was – a small perch of rock on which the dragon had slept, long enough to somehow be overgrown with bamboo and develop a coastline.

Jack breathlessly snarled a string of curses at magic, voodoo, stupid blacksmiths and bad luck as he scrambled down over the coil, barely missing getting his legs crushed as it ground against a lower one, slipping on the soil that caked the next, then grimaced as, with a final bounce, the egg fell into the waves.

And vanished.

"Oh _bugger_…"

--

Far, far away in the Caribbean, on a beach, her attendants humming and swaying behind her, Tia Dalma watched the carcass of a slaughtered black rooster, waiting patiently, the small felt bag in her hand. And smiled, thinly, to herself, as it abruptly raised its head, and let out a crow as if to greet the dawn.

She swung her hand back, then threw the heart up in a wide arc, out and into the sea.

--

Davy Jones stood on the bridge of his ship in the sunlight, looking out over the waves, his crew playing Liar's dice somewhere on a lower deck, noisily betting their years of servitude, and laughing raucously at losing parties. He didn't turn when a tall, white-faced man appeared at his side, dressed in a strangely short, form-fitting black coat, and a cylindrical black hat with an oddly high top (rather outlandish gear, the likes of which he hadn't ever seen), tapping his cane on the slimy deck of the ship.

"Time's up, Davy Jones," Baron Saturday said.

"Aye."

--

The dragon paused in mid lunge, shaking his massive head as if to clear its thoughts, then pulled itself away, slipping into the sea to their right. It took some dodging before they managed to jump into the waves unscathed by shifting scales. As he watched, the impossibly long form slipped out of sight, into the depths.

Norrington was the first to pull himself up onto the boat, and he helped William up after him. When they were all aboard, Jack turned to William. "Yer still rowin'."

Elizabeth stared out at the devastation about them – crushed and uprooted bamboo, and the planks of the other jolly boat, and then the space where the dragon had last been seen. "Well. I don't believe it. Did we win?"

"Seein' as th'dragon is gone, seems like we did," Jack said doubtfully.

"Good," Elizabeth huffed, and slapped him with a sharp crack of her hand.

Jack yelped, scrambling back up behind Norrington. "'Lizabeth!"

"You deserved that, Jack," Norrington said dryly, then flinched as a familiar-looking 'person' appeared, standing a foot above the water, last seen as a black man behind the Dragon King.

Jack grimaced. "Ye 'ave t'stop doin' that, mate."

"Doing what?" Baron Saturday asked, mildly, then tipped his hat at Elizabeth, looking over her wet clothing appreciatively. "Ah. You must be the delectable Miss Swann."

"Who's this?" Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "The talking skeleton?"

"Not exactly," Barbossa said quickly, before even William took offence. "Baron Saturday. So did we succeed? Seein' as the dragon is gone, an' the egg too. Though that wasn't exactly the way Tia said it 'ad t'be done."

"Yes. I admit to having doubts for a moment," Saturday shrugged gracefully. "Well… after some thought I decided to make it simpler for the lot of you, since, well, complicated instructions would likely result in several more… problems, with the quality of the help she sent this way. Still, the job's done, can't complain. Heart and Soul have returned to the sea, so the spell – or curse, what have you – is broken. No more magic – no more eternal life, and magic islands. Davy Jones and his crew are mine again."

"My father?" William asked quickly. "Bootstrap Turner? What of him?"

"Free, and human," Saturday said with a grin. "As agreed, I believe. He's currently with Tia."

William let out a deep, shuddering breath, and buried his head in his hands. Elizabeth embraced him tightly.

"Thanks," Jack said cautiously.

"Don't thank me yet. You still need to get out of here, and my help doesn't extend to you lot any further." Saturday gestured at the distance, and then tipped his hat again. "Be well. I'd see all of you again, at the crossroads."

"What'd he mean?" Norrington asked, staring at the spot where the Loa had just been. "The crossroads?"

"He means when we die, mate, an' that could be a right possibility," Jack said, watching as lights were moving towards them. Ships. "Row!"

--

They scrambled aboard the _Black Pearl_, where Barbossa quickly swung aboard the _Lady Luck_, which had been anchored next to the black ship. Weighing anchor, both ships swept towards the only exit, just as dawn broke over the horizon. And slowed, seeing the impressive armada that greeted them – smaller junks near a large one, at the prow a familiar colorful figure with a bright crown, who called out at them unintelligibly, though Jack could guess at his meaning.

"Ye 'ave t'catch me first, mate!" Jack muttered, then staggered on deck as the waves abruptly swelled. Shouts from the other ships, then yells as, before their eyes, the land began to sink slowly into the sea with a bone-shaking rumble. "All 'ands on deck!" Jack commanded, as he attuned himself to his _Pearl_, stroking the wheel. Unafraid, she laughed under his touch, even as the waves turned dangerously big.

Displaced water turned into large waves that capsized some of the smaller junks, adding to the confusion. As he angled his _Pearl_ to ride them, he laughed with her, helplessly, wildly, as water crashed over the side, threatening to sweep him over, nut-brown hands clinging firmly to the rail, grabbing at his hat as the water tugged at him. Shouts from the crew, as they clung on to the rail, the mast, the hatch, rigging, in an attempt to stay on board, the deck heaving this way and that under the angry waves.

It was over remarkably quickly, and the sea was theirs. It felt odd to be able to look out over open water where there had just been cliffs, and a port. Jack risked a glance to the right – the _Lady Luck_ seemed to have ridden it out well enough, under the guidance of her Captain. Unfortunately, several junks – and the main warship – had survived, and were spreading out, intent on either catching them or sinking them. Jack flinched as a ranging shot was fired, cannonballs splashing into the water far too close to them.

Dots on the horizon, as the sky colored in greeting of the dawn.

"Scope," Jack snapped, and Anamaria hurried to his side, scope in hand. Focusing the instrument with one hand as he coaxed his _Pearl_ steady over the gentling waves, he looked out over at the incoming ships – and began to laugh.

Approaching them was a neat array of five warships that flew the flags of King and Country, and the British East India Company – at the head, _Poseidon's Wrath_.

The pirate junks realized their peril, and scattered. Jack chuckled, giving orders to raise the flag of parley and weigh anchor. _Lady Luck_, after some hesitation, followed suit, and both ships watched as, with efficient, predatory seamanship, the warships proceeded to outmaneuver and sink most the panicking pirates, including the flagship. Four warships moved after the rest, skimming over the waves, while _Poseidon's Wrath_ sailed towards them.

--

The offices of the British East India Company in Canton resembled a gentleman's club. Some monocled old gents looked up with interest as they were ushered past spacious, carpeted rooms of rich mahogany furniture, paintings of England in much abundance, as well as any number of rifles, pistols and swords on display. The dining room was as opulent as the one in Lord Norrington's townhouse – large glass windows looked out over Canton harbor, the other wall holding a very large painting of the Thames and assorted buildings that made up the skyline of London.

Lord Norrington again sat at the head of the table, James beside him and Jack opposite, Barbossa next to Jack, Elizabeth next to James and William alongside her. They had, as it were, dressed for the occasion, with some help from Lord Norrington – even Barbossa looked respectable, with his newly trimmed beard over his cravat. Elizabeth was radiant in an elaborate green dress – boy's clothes definitely did not suit her.

As breakfast was served, Lord Norrington said dryly, "No doubt you're surprised I'm here."

"T'aint sayin' it's not welcome," Jack was tucking into sausages and egg with enthusiasm, as if he hadn't eaten for days. "But 'tis true we were wonderin'."

"I admit that I was already considering following the both of you to Canton," Lord Norrington agreed, "Despite what I'd… said. Just in case. But then one night I 'woke up' to see a rather odd… lady of color, in my chambers. Dreadlocks, black lips. Strange dress. Very odd manner of pronunciation."

"Miss Dalma," James said, blinking.

"Yes, she said her name was Tia Dalma. And that I was dreaming, but she was real enough – and that you'd need me," Lord Norrington grinned benignly at James. "She then proceeded to give me a very helpful set of coordinates. Which were written on paper atop the dresser when I did, actually, wake up. So, deciding that I was bored in Bombay, I set off after all, taking all the boys with me."

"'Bored'," Elizabeth blinked, unable to countenance such a flippant word from the elder Norrington. "But… I have heard, from my father, that you are effectively in charge of Bombay, Lord Norrington. Surely, your responsibilities…"

"No doubt heard in the course of advising you on a match with my son," Lord Norrington grinned, as Elizabeth colored slightly. "No need to apologize. I know what happened and I wish the both of you happiness. Besides, I'm sure James is quite over matters." A sidelong glance at Jack, who pretended not to see it. Will failed to stifle a startled laugh. It was James' turn to color.

"What'd ye be doin' now?" Barbossa asked, obviously a little uneasy in the midst of East India Company power, despite the free breakfast, or perhaps because of it.

"I'd have to settle some business in Canton. Be entertained by the Lords in charge here, give an account of the latest hunt. It'd likely take at least a week. Leaving so soon will be too terribly rude." Lord Norrington said blandly. "Sadly enough, unlike most of the rest of you, I am quite tied down with social obligations."

"An' no doubt spend some time huntin' th'rest o' those that got away," Jack said dryly, buttering some bread. "A grand day fer fox huntin'."

Lord Norrington inclined his head in agreement, even as Barbossa smirked, the Turners frowning – the subtext escaped them. "Unfortunately one of my hounds is injured, but I have no doubt there's still some entertainment left to be had."

James looked disapproving, but kept his silence over his egg. Jack spoke, instead. "The harbor looked a mite damaged."

"Waves from the island sinking reached even Canton, I'm afraid," Lord Norrington noted, "But I do believe they're putting it down to natural disasters. It's a good thing we had foxes to play with, or my crew might have been terribly traumatized, watching all that land suddenly swallowed by the waves. What happened, actually?"

"Uh. Well. You see, my father got conscripted into Davy Jones' crew, and we were told that going to World's End and getting rid of Davy Jones' soul would free him." William blushed a little as he realized how outlandish his words sounded, especially in their extremely formal British surroundings. To his credit, however, Lord Norrington merely nodded encouragingly, and got a short, if rather stammered account of what had happened at World's End, and the island, as well as an even briefer consideration about the link of the soul to the stability of the land.

"Remarkable," he finally said, glancing at James, who shrugged. "If I hadn't seen the island sink, I might have expressed some doubt… but, remarkable." Dryly, "Even if it caused damage to Canton harbor."

"Are we in… trouble?" Elizabeth asked, cautiously.

"Quite the opposite," Lord Norrington said absently, "Despite news having reached India that your Letter of Marque is suspect. I've delayed it further, but I'm afraid a renewed Letter and a pardon may have to wait until I get back to Bombay."

"A what?" Jack blinked.

"It seems only fitting, after the lot of you managed, through accident, it seemed, to get rid of the largest pirate threat in the South China Sea," Lord Norrington sipped at his coffee. "However, of course, whether or not you wish to sail under the Letter of Marque, or continue making mischief, is up to you." A glance at Barbossa, who shrugged in turn, noncommittally. "In the meantime, I suppose I'd draw up some temporary letters that would allow you to dock in Jamestown."

"Thank you," Elizabeth managed to say, blinking, good manners saving her in the face of too much overwhelming fact.

"No need for thanks," Lord Norrington said effusively over his coffee. "I suppose I should be the one thanking all of you, for an amusing day of sport."

"Foxhuntin'," Jack noted, helping himself to more boiled egg. "Lured out by other foxes."

Lord Norrington grinned. "Foxes to lure out foxes. Interesting idea, actually. Care to be employed in Bombay, Captain Sparrow?"

"No thanks," Jack said quickly. "'Tis th'Caribbean fer me."

"To the Caribbean," William agreed, raising his mug of coffee.

As toasts went, it wasn't too bad.


	20. You're Beautiful

Author's note: yay done. Also, I felt it was about time Norrington got his own chapter. And the song that gave the title kept playing in my head while I was writing this. Though thankfully I opted for another ending instead…

Chapter 20

You're Beautiful

Commodore James Norrington was terribly bored.

The wedding party was in full swing and into the second round of dances – brightly colored, expensively clothed bodies moved in twirling patterns on the dance floor that hurt his eyes to watch. Eye, in this case, since he had an embroidered eyepatch on which was proving to be very irritating indeed. James muttered under his breath and wished he had never agreed to dress up as a pirate for the Turners' masquerade party. Or if so, that he hadn't agreed to wear the damned eye patch. The affected vision was making him extremely cranky. On the other hand, some of his irritation likely showed on his face, because no blushing girl had as yet bothered him for a dance via approaching him and dropping barbed hints. Silver linings.

Despite the fairly ridiculous costume. The original clothes had included a checkered bandana for his hair, and a stuffed parrot. He'd opted (to the Turners' disappointment) to leave out those – settling instead for the elaborate pistol belt, a cutlass, large fake gem rings, lace-up shirt and oddly comfortable breeches in wide-topped boots. A tricorn hat, with a stitched skull and crossbones motif at the sides. And the damned eyepatch.

He went back for more punch, and noted that Elizabeth Turner, glowingly happy on William's arm, was pulling the blacksmith towards him. She was dressed, rather predictably, as a swan – a beautiful feathered mask over her lovely smile, carefully coiffed hair plaited with white ribbons and long feathers, the gown an artwork of plumes and pearls. Governor Swann had definitely outdone himself with the party – not that he could blame the man, remembering how (so much thinner, so much older-looking) he had actually broken down on the dock, when they returned to Port Royal, a month and a half back, safe and sound.

A white-gloved hand extended for a kiss, and he brushed her wrist with lips absently, remembering, in a brilliant flash of images, white-gloved hands bound to a black mainmast, and a male, purring voice encouraging him to do all manner of licentious acts. It was immediately followed by a dull hurt, which he clamped down on, forcing a smile. "Elizabeth. You look lovely."

William Turner was also dressed as a pirate, and, irritatingly, rather like a certain pirate of mutual acquaintance – tricorn hat, red scarf, fake beaded hair, even a sea-urchin spine. He grinned. "James. Thanks for coming." Over the voyage back home, and the past month and a half, the both of them had at least become friends.

"Of course I would," James said, then fingered his eye patch. "Though I regret agreeing to wear some of these trappings."

"But we had it specially made," Elizabeth said, pouting prettily. "Even Bootstrap said it was as fine an eyepatch as he'd ever seen."

The man in question was in a corner of the large ballroom, dressed as Baron Saturday. He still looked far older than he should be, especially next to Governor Swann, and there were still moments where he looked off into the distance, haunted, but other than that he seemed to be slowly recovering from his ordeal of servitude. At the moment, drink in hand, he seemed to be laughing with the bride's father over some joke.

"I'm sure he would," James said dryly. Bootstrap had been anxious to gain the approval of his son's bride-to-be, but even if that had not been the case, he had, like Turner the Younger, been very quickly charmed by Elizabeth's fire.

There was a brief silence, as both Turners looked at each other, and then at the display of artistic finger foods, as Elizabeth said in a small voice, "I thought Jack would come. I mean, I invited Tia too, and she didn't come, but at least she replied with an explanation. Jack… well, I thought he would. Or at least, see the ceremony."

"They have only just processed his Letter of Marque properly," James said mildly, having become practiced over the last month or so in hiding his pain. "Or perhaps he was held up by the weather."

Elizabeth looked up at James, then away again. _I thought he'd come back for you_. Unspoken. James took a deep swallow of his punch. He had thought so as well – or at least, entertained the thought in all seriousness. Claiming that he'd wanted to give James time to think things over, Jack had left only after a day of their return to Port Royal. The _Lady Luck_ hadn't followed them all the way back – stopping at Tia's island. Barbossa had, to everybody's astonishment, wished the Turners (or at least, Bootstrap's whelp) well for their upcoming wedding (if gruffly, and almost inaudibly), and hadn't been heard of since, though James had heard reports of a ship matching the description heading in the direction of New Amsterdam.

The _Black Pearl_, however, had seemed to simply vanish off the face of the sea. James, however, had been too busy to start searching, on his return to Port Royal and having to deal with Beckett – who had been coldly angry after learning what they had done, but hadn't been able to do anything about it (though James had advised the Turners to keep a their weapons close as much as they could, just in case of assassin-secretaries). The man had finally, apparently quit the scene, possibly headed to Kingston, or back to England.

And James had heard that he was very likely to be promoted to Admiral, for outstanding service in the name of the Crown – the removal of a pirate threat and an illegal trading port in Cathay. He could almost hear Jack's drawl – _so yer a bigger Navy toff now, are ye, Jamie-luv?_ – and he was aware, not for the first time that day, or indeed over the last month and a half, of how much he missed the damned pirate.

"You're scowling, James," Elizabeth said. He glanced at her. A wry grin on those full lips. "You don't hide it very well."

Will plucked at her sleeve anxiously. It was amusing how the blacksmith was so quick to try and stop his bride from accidentally prying open old wounds, when he didn't himself realize how his very costume was doing so. And then they were approached by the representative from Kingston and his wife, and swept away into the crowd.

Noting how, after the third dance, feminine eyes were speculatively eyeing him (as one of Port Royal's most eligible bachelors), James quickly secluded himself in the corner of the balustrade, with enough drink and finger food. He didn't feel much like dancing. Though he could see, out of the corner of his eye, Lord Norrington twirling a lady on the floor, and grinning mischievously. His father enjoyed parties nearly as much as he enjoyed pranks, and the wedding celebration and ceremony had been delayed until he'd shown up at Port Royal, a couple of days late, bearing wedding gifts of a pair of gorgeous black Araby stallions. Absolutely inappropriate for rocky Port Royal, but Elizabeth had been so pleased. _Poseidon's Wrath, No Redemption_ and _Last Dance_ currently dominated the harbor. Clearly here for some hunting, as well. James felt some apprehension over the fact, but then, the _Black Pearl_ was clearly recognizable.

A politely cleared throat interrupted his reverie. James looked up to see Bootstrap in his black costume and cane, tipping his top hat. "Mr. Turner."

"Bootstrap," the man corrected, with a grin. "As I've tried tellin' ye already."

James managed to smile despite his poor mood. "All right."

Silence marked only by the sounds of drinking. The Bootstrap said, almost as an afterthought, "The thing 'bout old Jack, 'e's a wee bit like a girl."

"I beg your pardon?" James blinked, startled. He had been expecting a comment about Jack – just about everybody tended to talk about the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow, in his presence – but not in that vein.

"I mean 'e likes bein' chased," Bootstrap said, with a quick grin at James' expression. "But then, 'e also don't like commitment. If 'e think 'e's getting too close, 'e runs. An' expects t'be chased."

"Are you suggesting…" James began, and then shook his head slightly, taking a deep breath. "I couldn't have done that. I have a job."

"Aye, an' usually, 'e'd run fer a bit, see that he isn't chased, an' drink t'drown out th'pain," Bootstrap shrugged. "Ain't sayin' it's right, or even sane, just sayin' that's what I've seen. Last time."

James grimaced. "I… I see."

"Last time, I said," Bootstrap repeated, looking back up at James with a faint smile, his voice now pitched softly. "T'aint seen any gel or man 'e liked as much as ye. An' I definitely 'aven't seen anyone that 'e'd bring aboard th'_Pearl _– though he 'ad a few flings in the two, three years he 'ad her, at the beginnin'. Means she likes ye, doesn't she?"

"The _Pearl_?" James smiled wryly. This line of conversation was so very out of place in the midst of the civilized party. "Yes. She demanded to know why I wasn't going with Jack, when he was about to leave. Hasn't spoken to me since."

"Aye, Jack says she tends t'keep grudges fer a while, though she'd forgive eventually," Bootstrap chuckled. "She tried t'talk t'me before, many times, but it was always too… disturbin', I asked her t'stop. Jack said she was right pissed wi' me fer months. Figured, I kept accidentally knockin' into loose pulleys, or fallin' off the ship."

James dipped his head, his smile becoming forced as he tired of the constant reminders that fanned the pain in his heart. "What do you plan on doing now? That you're no longer… that you're…"

"Human again?" Bootstrap supplied, with a grin. "I think I'd stay 'ere fer a while, get t'know 'Lizabeth, get along better wi' William… see 'ow it goes. I'd like t'be a grandda' worthy o' any kid, but th'sea, she be a mistress ye can't avoid. An' I know no other craft but sailin'. An' now there be two cap'ns worth sailin' under, over th'sea, t'choose."

"Barbossa?" James blinked. "But…"

"Still a good cap'n, one o' th'best," Bootstrap shrugged, "An' 'tis th'way o' pirates. I knew what was goin' t'happen t'me when I objected t'the mutiny. Welcomed it, even. I was sick at heart, t'see what had happened to the friendship. None o' us knew at that time that we were cursed. 'Sides, t'aint Barbossa that gets people into th'oddest scrapes."

James sighed, about to excuse himself, then he noticed Bootstrap frown – then the worn face broke out into a delighted laugh. He was facing the door. James turned on his heel, so quickly that he'd had to hold on to his hat.

Masquerade costume could have disguised Gibbs and Cotton – dressed as a rather portly Spanish conquistador with his squire – but it would have been hard to conceal the ebony skinned Anamaria, in her dress themed exotically on jaguars, with the spotted fur trim on the pale orange dress, and the vicious-looking mask. And it definitely wouldn't have helped Marty, who was unselfconsciously dressed as a (very short) native official of Cathay – bright robes, fake pigtail and all.

And there was Jack.

James knew his jaw was hanging open. Jack was wearing a very, very good replica of his own Commodore dress uniform, fitted to his slighter size, sashaying in cheekily to tip the large blue hat at Governor Swann. Thankfully the party was already well under way, and nobody noticed or gave much comment over the new arrivals. But, oh God, Jack looked sexy in gold brocade, dark blue coat, cravat, (dreadlocks combed out again, James noticed, though the kohl was still there), tight white breeches… even with that damned ridiculous wig…

"Ye 'ave t'breathe, man," Bootstrap said somewhere behind him, sounding amused.

"Please excuse me," James said hurriedly, not waiting to see if there was an acknowledgement, and moved into the crowd.

Jack was in the midst of apologizing to the Turners, his white-gloved hands fluttering agitatedly. "I would'a come fer the weddin', I would, we were plannin' t'come three days beforehand, in fact, but there was a bad storm near Havana an' we 'ad t'stop fer repairs t'the foremast…" And he paused, when James approached them, out of breath, and grinned. "James." A quick once over. "Lookin' good, mate."

"Elizabeth. William. I beg your pardon," James turned to the Turners.

Elizabeth chuckled. "Jack, I forgive you. James, you're welcome."

"Have fun," Will ventured, as Jack was dragged away to the garden. There was a faint "Nice togs, Will!" just as the two men disappeared from view.

When they were far enough from the house, in the pavilion shaded by trees, James pushed Jack up against one of the white struts that held up the domed roof, and kissed him savagely, pouring a month and a half's worth of frustration, heartbreak, despair and exasperation into it. Jack's gloved fingers clutched briefly at James' coat, then wrapped behind his head, growling as he kissed him back, wrapping his legs around James' waist. The forgotten stands with discarded music scripts still cluttered the newly-constructed, circular building – really just a roof held up on white struts over a ring-shaped cushion bench, with a large lantern illuminating the place at the apex.

When they broke for air, James shifted Jack up onto the bench, half-kneeling on it himself, half-standing on the ground. A wayward, long leg pushed over one of the music stands with a clatter, but neither cared. Jack smiled breathlessly, large hat already lopsided on his head, pulling at his cravat. "Missed ye too."

James balanced himself with his hands on either side of Jack, taking deep, slow breaths until his mouth agreed to work, yanking off the eyepatch and discarding it, then the cutlass. "Did you have to take so long?"

Jack pouted. "I said we 'ad some trouble over near Havana, didn't I?"

"It's been a month and a half, Jack," James growled.

"Oh." Jack blinked. "Well, thought ye'd want some time. Think things over. An' ye didn't exactly start chasin' me."

A deep sigh, as Bootstrap's words came back to haunt him. James plucked at the white, flat collar of the blue Commodorial coat. "Do you have any idea what wearing this uniform means, Jack?"

"Means ye 'ave t'have some sort o' internal heat control method, 'cos it's killin' me," Jack deadpanned, with a smirk. "An' th'wig itches."

"I meant in terms of responsibility," James said patiently. "And the wig looks silly on you."

"Aye, aye. Responsibility," Jack said dryly, removing the offending wig and dumping it on the bench next to him, before replacing the large hat. "Very important. S'posed t'be taken seriously, instead o' runnin' about like yer da', whom I saw dancin' wi' a gel younger than ye, back there."

"Yes, it should be," James said, determined not to lose the line of conversation, difficult when talking to Jack. Especially when he was sitting like that, legs open, leaning against the strut, tugging out the cravat while trying to adjust the hat at the same time. How could one creature be so infuriating, yet so desirable and adorable? James dipped his head again, acknowledging that he was, quite possibly, about to be defeated. "Jack."

"Made up yer mind yet, Jamie-luv?" Jack asked, quietly.

James smiled, thinly. "What about you, Jack?"

"I've kept to th'Letter, 'aven't I. M'now a privateer fer good, fer King an' bloody Country." A soft chuckle. "'Sides, I got a close look at some o' th'new ships in th'harbor, not just yer da's. Very interestin' fer any pirates left in these parts."

"_Sea Hawk_ just arrived from London," James nodded, with some pride. "Beautiful ship." The new warship wasn't a replacement or consolation for the _Dauntless_ in his heart, but then, she wasn't meant to be.

As expected, Jack replied instantly, irritably, "T'aint as bonny as me _Pearl_. She's still mad at ye, by th'way."

"I'm sure her Captain can be prevailed on to explain to her the nature of responsibility," James said dryly, shifting them again so that Jack was in his lap, while he sat on the bench, one ankle crossed over a knee, one boot on the ground. The pirate purred and wriggled a little as he felt evidence that James had definitely missed him.

"Depends. Ye 'aven't told me what ye've decided."

James sighed, and pulled Jack close, resting his forehead on the other man's chest, over his heart, ignoring his need for the moment. And listened, while nimble fingers removed his hat and ran through his hair, patting, playing, examining the fine strands. And thought, again, over the same questions that had plagued him, night after night, when the _Black Pearl_ had left. "I think I'd like to be Admiral."

A sigh, muffled by his hair. Fingers stilled. "Aye. An' ye'd look nice in those togs, m'think."

"For perhaps… oh… maybe a year and a day."

The slighter body tensed. "An'… an' then?"

James looked up to see worried, bright eyes, lined with kohl. And smiled softly, glancing away. "Well. That depends on whether I feel… appreciated, by my lover, up until then." _No long, mysterious absences. No using Port Royal as merely a port of call. No gallivanting all over the world without your say-so. And definitely no cheating._

"Appreciated," Jack repeated thoughtfully, showing that he'd grasped instantly all the connotations. "If so?"

James chuckled. "Then perhaps I may find the position of Admiral too stressful, and take an honorable discharge to something with more… breathing space. Such as, perhaps, an ambassadorial position in the East India Company, that involves much travel, on a ship of my choice. Something like that. I'm sure my father will be able to come up with something."

"I see. An' yer ship o' choice?"

"It depends, entirely, on whether I feel that the ship's captain," a brief kiss over brocade, "Is amenable to my needs."

Jack trembled, and then he began to laugh, quietly, the chuckles muted by chocolate-brown hair. "You're _very_ sharp, Commodore Norrington."

"Only when I have to be," James said dryly, inserting just the faintest hint of reproach into his voice. Jack leaned down, and kissed his forehead, gently.

Silence, then, very quietly, "M'love ye."

James let out a breath, and found he couldn't arrange the motor control required to smile, lips faltering. His throat clenched, with a choked sound, and he closed his eyes for a moment, pulling Jack more tightly against him. Finally, still unable to smooth the tremor from his voice, he muttered against white fabric edged with gold brocade, "Did… did you have to wait, all this while, to tell me that?"

"Sorry," Jack was nuzzling his ear distractingly. "I needed t'think, too."

"And?"

"M'think that right now, I should be makin' a fair bid, fer yer attentions, James Norrington," Jack smirked, and moved his hips. James gasped, his own hips jerking involuntarily.

"Not here, Jack," he managed to say, gripping the pirate's waist. "Stop."

Jack pouted. "We've 'ad our… games, in public, before."

"At night on the _Pearl_, at the docks of Tortuga with the rest of the crew on shore leave, is not the same, Jack," James grit his teeth at another salacious wriggle. "I mean it."

"Awlright. Then where'd ye s'pose we go?"

"I have a horse carriage close by that can take us to my home."

--

James was _very_ thankful that his staff had been given the night off. The driver of his carriage had been nowhere to be seen – there was a minor celebration for staff that included those who had accompanied the various Lords and Ladies to the ball, apparently – and so James had driven them back instead, even through Jack's shameless teasing through the entire ride (so much further than he'd thought). Pushed behind frustration at the gate, he'd dragged Jack into the carriage, pulled back the curtains and proceeded to claim the man's wicked mouth as thoroughly as he could, all the while rubbing himself against the slighter body. Right. But it was, of course, all Jack's fault to start with.

He could hear the horses' snorting and soft whickering as they pawed at the ground, obviously somewhat confused as to why they had stopped, right outside the Norrington residence, but he didn't much care, all but yanking Jack's shirt open to roughly explore the heaving, tanned chest with his tongue and teeth. "Damned flirt," he snarled, leaning up and biting down on a shoulder.

Gloved hands cupped his head gently, even as Jack writhed and laughed. "Pirate!"

"The only pirate I've… known, to do that," James replied harshly, grinding his very apparent need against white breeches. "So what does that make you?"

"Th'best pirate ye've ever seen?" Jack suggested wickedly, gloved fingers having problems removing James' costume. He pouted, and began to pull one off, stilled quickly by James.

"Don't."

"Kinky, mate, kinky," Jack chided with a smirk, but left them on, tugging insistently at the coat instead, even as James was working on the white breeches, growling at the laces.

"I don't remember mine being… this troublesome," James muttered, even as Jack gave up on the coat and reached down to rub the bulge in the Commodore's pants through the fabric. James moaned, instantly thrusting into the touch, fingers fumbling, then cursed, pushing Jack's hands away. "It's already bloody hard to concentrate, Jack."

"Why not ye remove yer shirt fer Jack, first?" Jack suggested, licking his upper lip. "Then mebbe I'd 'ave somethin' t'do instead o' fondlin' th'goods."

James rolled his eyes at the salacious suggestion, but acquiesced, nimbly removing belts, shirt, allowing them to fall into a heap at the bottom of the carriage. Jack purred appreciatively, running his gloved hands over broad shoulders – the feel of fine leather making James shiver.

Finally, with an oath, he gave up on the knots, pressing kisses instead over Jack's bared chest, nibbling over the heaving chest, then settling for pressing sucking love bites in a neat trail down to Jack's navel. Gloved hands pulled at his hair, Jack letting out a string of curses in Spanish. "James…"

"Serve you right for getting these pants," James muttered, nuzzling the obvious erection in the fabric, glancing at the slowly growing wet circle. Another smirk up at Jack, and he lowered his head, sucking at it, at the hard flesh below it. Jack wailed, bucking frantically. Starched fabric, and salt.

When he looked up again, Jack's eyes were glassy under the off-balance hat, his mouth opening and closing for breath, and then they focused sharply. "I'm this close t'removin' th'gloves an' helpin' ye, Jamie-luv," he growled, ragged words.

-cut-

James pulled out, and all but collapsed on top of Jack, his arms shaking, holding himself up by his elbows, breath against the pirate's collar, listening to the other man's own ragged pants. They stayed that way for a while, the night quiet except for the impatience of the horses, then Jack began to chuckle. "Who cleans yer carriage?"

James hung his head, closing his eyes. "Oh, God."

--

Barbossa looked out over the bustling port of North Carolina, eating a green apple. It seemed an interesting enough port from which to operate, although he had been told that New Amsterdam would likely be more profitable for a British privateer. With some modifications, _Lady Luck_ was fast becoming the terror of Spanish and Dutch ships about the region, and he'd come to North Carolina laden with the spoils of war on the sea.

He smirked, shifting his shoulders a little, as he took another bite, the monkey chattering into his ear. Life was good.

--

Ayla found employment as a maid, then the cook-housekeeper, for Norrington, in Port Royal. The girl-child that was born has dark skin, and little family resemblance to obnoxious young Lords. She has named the baby Tia.

--

Anamaria had a brief fling with the handsome First Mate of _Poseidon's Wrath_, but declared it couldn't work out and left with the _Pearl_ when it weighed anchor a week or so after the wedding.

"Handsome," she told Jack, "But possessive. Don't like."

Jack wisely kept his opinions about possessive lovers and how fun they could be (in bed, at least) to himself.

--

Gibbs, Marty and Cotton continued to sail with the _Black Pearl_. Reportedly, she has spoken to Gibbs, who, like Bootstrap, proceeded to spend the next week attempting to drink himself silly. She sulked.

Marty grew a little too fond of the Oriental costume, until Jack took him aside and explained how it was creeping him out.

Cotton's parrot learned a new phrase, which it tended to say at the oddest times (such as in the middle of a gale, with the water lashing at the working crew). "Pretty Commodores. Pretty Commodores."

--

Pintel and Ragetti were left out of the story, having met with an accident in Liberté while on the crew of the _Lady Luck_ that involved the stray wooden eye, an errant donkey and a bottle of cheap brandy. They had also proceeded to miss Jack's arrival, being at that time holed up by another even more unlikely accident on an adjoining island. However, at some point in the future they would find their way back onto Barbossa's crew, and perhaps even find a glass eye that fits.

--

Lord Cutler Beckett dipped his quill into the inkbottle, seated at his desk. Heavy maroon curtains filtered out the shouts of men and animals, outside in crowded Manila. He looked over the dispatch again, cursorily – something about an update on the French war – and down to the line that required his signature. His shoulder ached, a dull pain, as he drew the quill over – and froze, as something that was most definitely not ink dripped from the tip, spotting the paper with purple blots.

Carefully, he put the quill on the table, and got to his feet, with a grace that gave lie to a hammering heart. Walked to the door. Leaned with his back against it, and said, dryly, "It doesn't get any funnier, Henry."

Soft laughter.

--

Tia Dalma, her vow to Baron Saturday fulfilled, agreed to remain in service until a worthy successor was born to the tribes of her attendants. She spends her days holding court in her tree-cottage, to native Kings, the occasional hesitant European looking for a potion, and other practitioners of voodoo. Sometimes Jack Sparrow visits, colorful and chatty, usually in some form of outrageous trouble or another.

As always, she turns a blind eye to his thievery.

--

Elizabeth and William Turner have a boy as their first child, whom they named Jack, to the consternation of Governor Swann. Jack Turner had his mother's eyes but his father's relatively serious nature, obvious even as a babe. His namesake was named his godfather, to the pirate – sorry, privateer's – considerable amusement. The sea, Jack Sparrow said, was now definitely in his blood.

"I'm sure we can keep an eye on him," Elizabeth had said, primly, glowing with joy even though bedridden for the moment. It had been a difficult birth.

"Aye, t'be sure," Sparrow had replied, cheekily. "But just so, I'd be givin' him a pistol fer his sixteenth birthday."

"Do you have children of your own, Jack?" William had asked, so seriously that Sparrow hadn't given it another thought.

"Not that I know of, why?"

"So, does that mean our Jack inherits your _Pearl_?" William's face had been absolutely straight, as was Elizabeth's, when Sparrow gawped at them. Then they began to laugh.

"Very, very funny."

--

Bootstrap Bill Turner left for the sea a month or so after the wedding, on the _Black Pearl_. Jack's frequent visits back to Port Royal – always about at least twice a month – suited him fine, especially when the child was born. He could often be found peering over the cradle, bemused, as if disbelieving his luck, though could not be relied on to babysit, having no willpower to enforce any sort of rules with his gurgling grandson.

After some fine examples of piracy – sorry, privateering – and trade, Bootstrap took his cut of the profit, and retired comfortably in Port Royal. Sometimes the sea still calls to him, but not as loudly.

--

Admiral James Norrington looked at the calendar with a half-smile, and then at the large pile of letters that ranged from congratulations at his new post in the British East India Company, to open regret that he would be leaving such an illustrious station in the King's Navy.

A year and a day.

Deliberately slowly, he dressed himself in the garb of a common sailor – if with finely made, comfortable clothes and a feathered hat, and packed his worldly possessions into a trunk. Some books, another pistol, spare clothes, and a necessary costume for his new position in trade relations. The world was changing, and diplomacy was currently in fashion. He was really now no more than a highly paid, glorified messenger with a nose out for corruption, but he felt only relief as he folded his Admiral's coat on the desk and placed the large Admiral's hat atop it.

Then he picked up the trunk, and made his way to the harbor in a leisurely stroll.

The _Black Pearl_ was the first to greet him, joyful, amused at his new coat, welcoming him back to her decks. _Mine_, she told him, firmly. He tipped his feathered hat at the black hull with a wry smile.

Gibbs wordlessly took the trunk with a grin, jerked his thumb up at the bridge, and then disappeared up the gangplank, towards the captain's cabin.

Jack, beautiful, wild Jack, watched him from behind the wheel, his fingers trailing over dark wood absently. He smiled when James walked up to him and pressed a kiss to the back of one nut-brown hand, and cocked his head, beads and dreadlocks shifting. "Where to?"

A heartbreakingly sweet smile, as one aristocratic hand blanketed the ringed fingers over the helm. "The far horizon, Jack. The far horizon."

-Fin-

Art and full version available at the copy in sparringtonDotigotfreeDotcom.


	21. Links

Just so everyone can finally stop emailing me on the topic: the uncut version of Fathoms (and all other fiction, and some new ones which I couldn't be bothered to upload to fanfic dot net) are here:

Replacing all dots, underscores and slashes with their appropriate symbols without the 'www' in front:

Manic UNDERSCORE intent DOT livejournal DOT com SLASH tag SLASH sparrington

And then just keep navigating backwards. Fathoms is right at the very end. Or you could look in the sidebar of

Manic UNDERSCORE intent DOT livejournal DOT com

For links to the memories section (labeled fic art) for a more comprehensive listing. Thank you. I appreciate all the feedback and am glad that everyone enjoyed the fic.


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